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MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


No. 3. 


A TALE OF THE RESURRECTION. 


By GEORGE F. ORMSBY. 


DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO., Rublishers. 

40^-425 Dearborn St.^ CHICAGO. 

Optimus Series No. J. March. i 8 qi. Issued Monthly. Subscription Price. $b.oo per year. Entered at 

Chicago P. O. as Second-Class Matter. 


MICHELINE. 


By Hector Malot. i2mo. Paper. Illus- 
trated. 


Hector Malot is one of the most charming French 
writers. Micheline is one of his strongest works, and 
the translation is good.” — The Arha/isas Gazette. 

“The theme of the story will recall the leading 
features of ‘ East Lynne. ’ ” — San Francisco Chronicle. 

“The story, of course, is French, and has some 
peculiar features, but is one that any one can read. 
The characters are well drawn, and many parts of the 
book are very touching.” — The San Fraiicisco Morning 
Call. 

“ The scenes are vivid from the start, and the inter- 
est is well maintained throughout.” — The Rochester 
(N. V.) Union afid Advertiser. 

“A happy translation of a charming French novel.'* 
— Davenport Democrat. 

DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO., Publishers, 

CHICAGO. 


1 




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THE 


MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN 


A TALE OF THE RESURRECTION. 


/ 

BY GEORGE F. ORMSBY. 




“ There is no death ; 

What seems so is transition. 

This life of mortal breath 

Is but a suburb of the life elysian.” 


CHICAGO; 


» 


DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. 

1891. 



Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

Donohue, Henneberry & Co. 


* J 


DONOHUE & HENNEBERRY, 
PRINTERS AND BINDERS, 
CHICAGO. 


X 


TABLE OF CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. The Sirens’ Isle, - - - - - 7 

II. Argonauts who did not all safely pass the Sirens’ 

Rock, - - ... 14 

III. The Legend of Pass Christian, - - - 28 

IV. “The River,” - . - - - 33 

V. A Goblin Race, - - - - - 51 

VI. Three Lovers, - .... 67 

VII. A Vision of the Madonna, - - - 85 

VIII. A View of the Devil, .... 107 

IX. The King of the Carnival, - - - - 122 

X. Elves of the Carnival Kingdom, - - 135 

XI. Fairies of the Carnival Ball, - - - 152 

XII. Gabriel Blows His Trumpet in the Morning, - 168 

XIII. A Haunted Oak, . _ . . . 180 

XIV. A Haunting Negro, - - - - 199 

XV. Ideals, .215 

XVI. Mother and Daughter, .... 223 

XVH. Entering the Enchanted Ground, - - - 231 

XVIII. The Doubting Greta, - - - - 242 

XIX. “ Robert Elsmere” Doubted, - - - 261 

XX. The Academy, ..... 276 

XXL Reverie, ...... 283 

XXH. A Close Communionist, .... 290 

XXHI. Voices of the Night, - - - - - 299 

XXIV. An Acrobat of the Night, - - .317 

XXV. TheLoreley, 323 

XXVI. Lilies. 343 


3 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. 


PAGE. 

XXVII. 

Mr. Martin A. Smith and Wife, 

- 356 

XXVIII. 

The Bridal Tour of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, 

369 

XXIX. 

The Wedding Journey Continued, - 

- 376 

XXX. 

The Happy Pair Dismiss Their Attendant, 

385 

XXXI. 

The Enchanted Forest, • . - - 

- 396 

XXXII. 

Conclusion of the Honeymoon, 

413 

XXXIII. 

Miss Lind’s Engagement is Broken, 

- 422 

XXXIV. 

“Morituri Te Salutamus," 

442 

XXXV. 

Shall We Meet Again ? . . . 

- 461 

XXXVI. 

Auf W iedersehn, ... - 

474 

XXXVII. 

Nine Years After, - _ . - 

. 490 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE SIREHS^ ISLE. 

“ She has a bosom as white as snow, 

Take care ! 

She knows how much it is best to show, 

Beware! Beware! ” 

— Longfellow. 

Across from Bay St. Louis, Miss., Feb. 1, 188 — . 
My Dear Meeks: 

When one is a gambler, on an excursion from his New 
Orleans place of business by the Gulf Coast railroad to 
Biloxi — where, as the beer and music flow, he will hail 
and befriend simple countrymen with that trustfulness 
and welcoming frankness which betokens the Man of Con- 
fidence; or, not being a gambler, when one is a Wall street 
shepherd, shearer of lambs, whacker of bulls, and raiser of 
stock out of the reach of savage bears, and who, by polit- 
ical economy, has realized on a margin of his pastoral 
labors enough for a Mardi Gras trip to New Orleans; or, 
when one is a bank president, interested in railroads to 
Canada, and is now, in the cold winter, flying like the 
swallows to sunny Mexico, whence those who swallow will 
never homeward fly; or, when one of Gotham^s chosen 

( 7 ) 


8 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


people — the real and only Four Hundred, greatest of 
living wonders ever on exhibition — is on his Mobile way 
to the Comus ball of Shrove Tuesday, — such travelers will 
eventually reach a point on that coast railroad where a 
shrieking brakeman breaks open the car door, and, with a 
glance that is suspicious, forbidding and stern, yells: 

""Pass Christian!” 

When you quietly read this expression in the railroad 
guidOj you thought you knew what it meant. Your 
ingenious theory was that a small village, from its pictur- 
esque situation in some mountain pass, had become a fash- 
ionable resort. But you observe that there are no mount- 
ains, and, therefore, no pass, while the brakeman^s sig- 
nificant emphasis discovers the mysterious phrase to be a 
command to pass Christian, the Pilgrim, a tourist, who, 
in his Progress from the City of Destruction (alias, New 
Orleans), visited this Enchanted Ground, lay down to sleep 
in an arbor near a Palace Beautiful, and, being more tired 
than the Seven of Ephesus, still is sleeping. 

""Do not wake him,” cries the brakeman. ""Move on, 
gamblers, swallows. Wall street breakers, and all the fash- 
ionable Four Hundred emissaries of Beelzebub; do not dis- 
turb our Christian, now so restful, calm and drowsy.” 

But, perhaps, like the beasts that perish, when driven 
one way you are frantic to go the other. Instead of sigh- 
ing, ‘"I pass,” you take up hand luggage, shake off the 
dust from your feet and depart from that car. 

Your train stops at night — 10 o^clock. Underestimat- 
ing in the dark the distance from the car step down to 


THE sirens’ isle. 


9 


the depot platform, you stumble, dropping cane, umbrella, 
valise, band-box, shawl-strap, revolver, cordial and your- 
self — coming on the stage where the actress. Fashion, is 
the star performer, with an ungraceful and very low bow. 
Tempted to invoke maledictions which are not Christian 
upon the Pass which is termed so, you arise to hear a 
voice from the darkness pronounce you a 
Mexican Guff !” 

Sure that no gentleman would rail thus at another’s 
misfortunes, you gather up valise and other personalty 
and turn away with your well-bred, quiet dignity. But 
a few strides further and the same strange taunt: 

Mexican Guff ! ” 

Shadows of the depot hide from your growing wrath 
your invisible foe. Naturally indignant at the ground- 
less slander; arguing that, whether a Guff or not, at 
least you are no Mexican one, in the elasticity of inno- 
cence you carom off in a third direction. Whereupon a 
solitary individual, though not one of the other conspira- 
tors, yet charges you with being a Mexican Guff. Their 
surprising unanimity causes you to doubt your identity, 
until a clever thought strikes you and you ask your inter- 
locutor what in Pass Christian he means? 

^^De Mexican Guff Hotel, suh, is de only one heah, 
suh, and so we all runs fo’ it. Drive yo’ right up, suh?” 

‘^Yes.” 

And you are swiftly borne away. The carriage rolls 
easily and noiselessly over the soft turf road. As the air 
is chilly on some of these winter nights, you enwrap yourn 


10 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


self in your cloak. The dewy, soft, night-blue sky, like 
the mighty petals of a great blue violet, bends over you, 
with its pollen of golden star-dust. Its fragrance seems 
to breathe upon you, as your conveyance whirls diagonally 
across a pasture where the cows are lying, whisks around 
a corner and bowls smoothly along a dim avenue; stately 
trees, like soldiers, line and guard the way, and their 
black outlines silhouette the sky. Driving between them, 
you enter a shadowy perspective — a long dim vista of 
gardens, cottages, detached buildings, or formless, dusky 
masses, which are — you donT know what. The gentle 
Southern night softens all contours, blending structures 
with shrubbery, farm-houses with outlying groves, hazy 
cotton-fields and meadows glistening with dew. Far 
away, above distant foliage, the tall white ghost of a slender 
church spire rises, with ocean mists eddying around it like 
fluttering phantom garments. 

Swiftly approaches the end of the road, its perspective 
terminating in a glimpse of moonlit water and a sound of 
the sea. From over bluffs ahead you catch the inspiring 
scent of the salt breeze, as the carriage stops at a side 
verandah of the Mexican Gulf Hotel. There bright 
lights, attentive servants, amiable hosts and cheerful, blaz- 
ing hearth fires greet you. 

Then there is somewhat else to welcome you, Meeks, 
which I announce for your especial benefit. Consider 
this marked Confidential,^^ ‘‘Strictly personal,"' “Sub 
rosa," and, as a greater than I used to say, “ Burn this." 

Do you remember those mythical maidens who, on an 


THE SIRENS^ ISLE. 


11 


ocean island, dwelt in a mead by its seashore, and whose 
enchanted songs tempted daring mariners to destruction? 
Charmed to their death by the sweet magic of voices 
which could ‘‘still even the winds,” forgetting home, 
country — all but the fatal, “ wondrous harmonies from 
the rocking branches of the willow trees,” — these rash 
men would abide in this “ blooming flowery mead,” 
ravished by its songstresses, until, naturally, they died 
the death. In time the yellow strand became whitened 
with the bones of musical enthusiasts — awful lesson, by 
the way, to those who, though sane, will yet listen to 
Valkyries and the Music of their infernal Future. 

Do you recall them ? Yes ? Well, these beautiful 
maidens now are here. Their names are Mrs. Ribold, 
Mrs. Rakeless and Mrs. Tweaser. They each have hus- 
bands, and yet, they have them not. Forlorn Mr. Ribold 
wanders alone in Cuba. Should he come here, Mrs. 
Ribold would go there — yea, even to a warmer place by 
far, before she would yield to his conjugal entreaties. 

And Mrs. Rakeless ? Is in the act, as you lawyers say, 
of Us pendenSy i. e., pending a suit for separation for 
alleged “cruelty” from the unsympathizing Mr. R. The 
latter, a very misguided man, was so absurd as to be 
jealous of his pretty wife ; and that innocent, corroded 
by suspicion and sensitive to distrust, at length sued her 
uneasy spouse to keep him beyond arm^s length. Thus, 
out of sight, in blissful ignorance, he knows no cause for 
jealousy. I need not say whether his want of confidence 
was cruel, to all concerned. 


12 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


As to Mr. Tweaser, accounts differ. Some assert that 
he was secured in a lunatic asylum, there to become mad 
at leisure ; others, that he hides in equatorial Africa at 
the source of the Nile. Still others aver that he keeps 
bachelor^s hall (or hall to that effect) in Greenland, with a 
Mr. Langtry. 

The oracle predicts that so long as these aforesaid 
maidens arrest male passengers^ attention, they will live, 
and continue, at the Mexican Gulf, but no longer. If 
wise as Ulysses, who made his seamen lash him to the mast 
when his ship sailed past the sirens’ isle, — if, like him, 
you are lashed by faithful companions here to some pillar 
of this hotel’s verandah, then you will not yield. But, if 
you are not under Ulysses’ restraint, they will not, as in 
the old myth, cast themselves into the sea with vexation, 
and you will not depart, I prophesy, before your bones are 
whitening on the strand. 

Yesterday I was at billiards with one of them. How 
tenderly and enchantingly she murmured : 

“ Love comes like a summer sigh, 

Gently o’er me stealing! ” 

Then she gave a side glance and looked down. 

Beware ! take care ! ” said Longfellow. 

I met your Chicago sweetheart in New Orleans. As 
you know. Miss Lind is to come here after Mardi Gras. 

Having given you an account of some of Pass Chris- 


THE SIRENS^ ISLE. 


13 


tian^s beauties — landscape and other — according to your 
request of the 15th ult., which was duly received and is at 
hand, I have the honor to be. 

Very truly, 

Ned Rattler. 

To SiMOH A. Meeks, 

Attorney and Counsellor-at-Law, 

Kansas City, Mo. 


CHAPTER IL 


ARGONAUTS WHO DID NOT ALL SAFELY PASS THE SIEENS’ 
ROCK. 

“Mortal, sneer not at the devil, 

Life’s a short and narrow way. 

And hot torture everlasting 
Is no error of the day.” — Heine. 

It was a cold, wild, February night. Upon Hew 
Orleans the rain had fallen thick and heavy all day, with 
little intermission for many days. Toward evening a chilly 
north wind had sprung up, which gained in strength, 
until, under its violence, the down-pour had sullenly 
slackened and finally ceased. The heavy banks of rain- 
clouds and scud over the city began to drive toward the 
Gulf and out to sea. The sky partly cleared, and at 
length the thin, sharp sickle of the new moon cut its way 
through to the arch of the world below. It gleamed 
brightly down upon leafy St. Charles avenue, where the 
dripping trees, unused to the exceptional weather, shud- 
dered in the rising gale. It glanced upon the fantastic 
architecture of the ambitious new library, and, what was 
before a dull pile of gloom, under its Midas’ touch now 
sparkled with golden frost-work. Then it glimmered upon 
the smooth, grass-grown mound, where St. Charles avenue 
circles around the column and statue of the General of the 
Armies of the Confederacy. 


14 


ARGONAUTS. 


15 


Like a sudden inspiration in the mind of a commander 
with whom the battle is all but lost, it kindled the bronze 
features of the Confederate chieftain as with the gladness 
of emerging from a night of defeat. A pale, dim lustre 
enveloped the still figure with a spectral glory. From its 
support below, invisible in the shadow, it rose aloft, as if 
this ascension were the resurrection, and the grassy mound 
beneath were a grave; while the calm expression of final 
victory in the veteran face above told that with him, now, 
it was as though Appomattox had never been. 

Beyond the Lee Circle and the monument, up St. 
Charles street, the moonlight wandered, gilding a pillared 
verandah here, or a stately flight of steps and noble gateway 
there; silvering creole balconies and their festoons of hang- 
ing vines, glinting their clinging raindrops into jewels, 
until dewy wistaria, climbing clematis and sprays of jessa- 
mine had become encrusted with emeralds and rubies, and 
until the wizard from the moon had decorated the windows 
all along the street, and thrown many a diamond necklace 
over the faces of each Southern home. Nor did the kindly 
light neglect to comfort the chilly orange blossoms on its 
way and cheer the shivering violets. The blossoms that 
night were drooping sadly, as if feeling that they must 
surely die of the cold and rain. 

But when it reached a dark, solemn house, a*s staid and 
dignified as General Lee, and a generation older, the 
celestial rays merged into the more brilliant terrestrial 
glow that streamed from within until they disappeared 
there altogether. This proud mansion, of the period of 


16 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the old South, dated back to the time when St. Clair and 
Evangeline were there. It stood at some distance back 
from the street and high above it, upon a raised court, as 
if St. Charles street of the new South, with its impertinent 
innovations and appallingly mixed populace, must be 
haughtily kept at a respectful distance. A dense growth 
of orange trees in the court veiled the house. Before 
the door the blackened trunks and branches of two gaunt 
trees crazily rattled and rustled and croaked their indig- 
nation at the change in Southern times. Buddy light 
blazed through the lofty windows and the arch over the 
doorway, darted out upon the glossy foliage, and, pierc- 
ing through, shone for any homeless Argonaut who 
might be abroad in that desolate night, like the lumi- 
nous Golden Fleece in the sacred grove at Colchis. But 
instead of the hissing of the dragon, which watched over 
the mythical light, there came now the welcome sound of 
music. Harps and violins mingled with the night-wind, 
songs and gay voices, revelry and laughter joined in the 
chorus, while the curtain of foliage drew aside from one 
window and disclosed there a shadow dance of waltzers. 

For this was the night when Mrs. SlidelFs Thursday 
Evening Dancing Club held its weekly meeting. Mrs. 
Slidell, the widowed mistress of this retreat, traced her 
lineage through one of the oldest of Southern families, 
and was closely related by marriage to the feeble old man 
then composing querulous histories and magazine articles 
at Beauvoir. But fallen was Jefferson Davis. Fallen 
with him was slavery. Gone with the slaves were the 


ARGONAUTS. 


17 


means for using the family plantation, which, therefore, 
had been sold at a sacrifice long ago. Major Slidell had 
been b.idly wounded at Gettysburg, and after lingering as 
an invalid some years after the war among its dreary 
ruins, quietly rejoined those comrades left on the bat- 
tle-field. The money obtained by selling their lands had 
been unfortunately invested, for a Southern lady of the old 
regime was not a tradesman of the Stock Exchange. And 
now, all that remained for the widow and her three daugh- 
ters was to give dancing lessons and take boarders. Thus 
the brilliancy of the home of some of the haughtiest of 
Southerners on that bleak February night was caused 
only by a dancing class and a parlor full of lodgers. 
Upon this prosy ending did the traveling moonbeams 
fall. 

You all would never have ^spected it, though, to look 
at them gals,^^ said Mrs. Gunn, suddenly, as she scratched 
her head reflectively, like one of the old heathen philoso- 
phers. This lady sat by the open hearth fire in the back 
parlor, among an observant group of Northern guests. 
They looked through the folding doors that opened into 
the Grand Salon,” and which displayed, like a tableau, 
the prettiest scene imaginable. The graceful, indolent, 
flower-like beauty of Southern girls was blooming there 
in full perfection. It seemed not so much a gathering of 
mere human merry-makers, as a beautiful garden of danc- 
ing flowers, who, endowed with animal life by some good 
fairy, were now revelling in the happiness of their new 
blessing. 


18 


THE MADOi^NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


^‘Now, did you ever, in all your born days, see a jollier 
gal than that ^ar Miss Grace, a-worryin^ over that stupid 
country kangaroo from Lafourche Crossin^ ?” continued 
Mrs. Gunn, v/hose language was as realistic as her origi- 
nality was striking. Grace is a-tryin^ to beat into her 
head, er — I should say, er — her lower limbs, how to dance 
that ^ar polky, but Spears like she’s not goin’ on full kilt 
to any land o’ Jordan.” 

No. The harps and violins were thrumming out the 
‘‘Echoes of the Mississippi,” which the country kangaroo 
apparently regarded as a wild variety of gallop, not differ- 
ing greatly, perhaps, from a Comanche’s war step. Her 
essays, accordingly, scattered terror and confusion among 
the flowers. The views which she held, Miss Grace, with 
an amiable smile and a few cheering words, was patiently 
striving to correct. 

“I’m from Mississippi. Our family was a Kemper — 
from old Guv’nor Kemper,” continued Mrs, Gunn (she 
was always continuing), introducing herself to a newly- 
arrived boarder as a sort of floor manager and mistress of 
ceremonies ; “ but we’re as pore as the rest of ’em. We’re 
all pore alike, and we all have to give dancing lessons and 
take boarders, and work and dig ; so we all do, and so it’s 
no disgrace, and so no one’s prouder than anyone else.” 

The speaker having thus partially described herself, in 
her lucid manner, it remains to be added that she was the 
one Southern boarder at Mrs. Slidell’s. This good-natured, 
shrewd, incompletely educated lady had certain individu- 
alities. One was that she gloried in being “ pore mean- 


ARGONAUTS. 


19 


ing that she had little of this world^s goods. In this she 
spoke the literal truth. But in describing herself as a 
dancing-teacher, and a digger, Mrs. Gunn conversed 
metaphorically. Connicted,^^ as she would often lemind 
her hearers, with old Gov^nor Kemper,” who, she would 
add in a redundant way and with a singular accent, 
was ‘^one of her four fathers,” she was not likewise ^^con- 
nicted” with that tribe of Indians professionally known 
as Diggers. Also, for reasons peculiar to her, it was phys- 
ically impossible for her to be a dancing-master. Her 
amorphous person had contours unknown to solid geome- 
try or Greek sculptors, but which were, approximately, 
hemispherical. She was rarely seen to walk, but when she 
so ventured, it was with a stoop forward and a gait pre- 
cipitous and headlong. It was better for Mrs. Gunn to 
stand than to walk ; better to sit down than to stand, and 
better to lie than to dance. When in her customary atti- 
tude, as at present, in a low chair, slightly leaning forward 
at an angle, she seemed fearfully and wonderfully made. 
Like that short piece of ordnance, thick and wide, with 
which modern warfare throws bombs, she sat, as would a 
mortar, inclined from the vertical, and always ready for 
action. As her weight was incalculable, she would have 
found difficulty in giving object lessons in the lighter, 
freer dances. To complete the description, it should be 
added that Mrs. Gunn’s conversational fire, by no means 
infrequent, was like that of the bombarding implement of 
war — lengthy and curvilinear, and much prolonged before 
coming to its end. Her attire was of black silk, glossy as 


20 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the coating of a man-of-war^s breech-loading rifle, and 
when she introduced herself the breech-loader was trained, 
so to speak, upon young Mr. and Mrs. Turtle, of 8t. Louis. 

The young Turtles were listening with polite attention. 
One heart, one soul, seemed to animate them. Each 
was the other^s reverberation. Evidently, both wanted to 
familiarize themselves with as many phases of the many- 
sided South as possible. They regarded Mrs. Gunn as 
one phase. When that lady had finished her last remark 
their dulcimer voices together chimed harmoniously: 

‘‘Yes?"" 

Thus encouraged, the rural Mississippian continued: 
“Now up in Yazoo, on our plantation (which b"longed to 
ole Guv"nor Kemper) we all have to do all our own wu"k. 
You can"t get those niggers to do a blessed stroke, mo" 
than"ll keep "em in close. As for vittles, why law bless 
your heart, they"ll steal "em, yes they will, all they don"t 
raise. Will wu"k a Monday, earn a dollar, then lay off a 
week, a-stealin" pigs, pears, potatoes, chickens, sheep, an" 
the bread out o" your mouth, an" everything they can lay 
hands on. Why don"t you ketch "em? Can"t do it. 
How? S"pose they "11 testify against each other? 0 yes! 
Once in a while you do convict "em. Then what? Shut 
"em up. In State pen. Farm "em out. But "spose 
they care a picayune? They like it. They gets board an" 
lodging free — free of charge. Lives better than at home. 
And then ignorant? Why law bless your soul ! "" 

“Now, Mrs. Gunn, will you tell us, please, — speaking 
of law — whether or not law in New Orleans was not well 


ARGONAUTS. 


21 


enforced by Ben Butler, during the war, and whether or 
not, the Southerners do now regard him as having done 
his duty This question was put, ” as he would have 
termed it, by a young gentleman who sat near, who 
addressed it as to a discursive witness on the stand; mean- 
while turning his head sideways towards the other board- 
ers, just as a lawyer watches the effect upon his jury of an 
important and decisive question. Mr. Meeks had just 
graduated from a law school and had recently been admit- 
ted to the bar of Kansas City. When Mrs. Gunn was in 
danger of overloading the circle of boarders with words 
which she thought necessary to elucidate any particular 
train of thought, Mr. Meeks would distract her attention 
by some question as remote as possible from the subject in 
hand. 

‘^Gen. Butler," replied the unsuspecting witness, ^'was 
a native of Liberia. Many old Southern people recollec’ old 
Ben, the barber, who kep’ a shop in Poydras street, and 
migerated to Liberia a many year ago. Gen. Butler was 
his son. Of course a nigger was utterly incompatible of 
ruling New Orleans. We all favor him more now since he 
has returned many of them spoons which he stole. A 
lady friend of mine wrote him for hers, which he embizzled, 
about two years ago, and said she’d give him Dixie and 
have the law on him if he didnT give ^em back. What do 
you suppose? He did. Seven days from the time she wrote 
that there letter a man come with some spoons and a let- 
ter signed Ben Butler, Himself, apologizing for having 
been tempted and led astray and saying that he would take 


22 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


no more. That was when ole Ben was a democrat. I 
hear tell that he’s changed to rip-publican now, so I 
kinder think we won’t get back no more of them spoons 
which he stole. Another lady friend of mine — ” . 

At this point Mr. Meeks propounded the following 
question : 

“ What you allege as to General Butler’s propensity 
to commit larceny, madam, reminds me of the unrepent- 
ant thief on the cross. I beg your pardon for the inter- 
ruption, but Prof. Hung, of Chicago, very recently gave 
an interesting lecture in the Central Music Hall on his 
want of faith in hell. Will Gen. Butler, and did the 
unrepentant thief, go there at death? If so, where is that 
place, and what?” and here Mr. Meeks again cocked his 
head to one side, like a robin or a crow. 

‘‘It’s a place as hasn’t such a equitable climate as 
Louisiana; but I shouldn’t think any lawyer wouldn’t need 
to question me much ’bout that air. I guess a good many 
a frequenters of a bar where they sells no lickers has got 
there a-ready. I knew a lawyer as died onct, an’ he was so 
bad that it took three preachers to bury him, an’ when 
they was a lowerin’ of the coffin, quick as yah please — 
puff! puff! an’ there was a strong smell of fire an’ brim- 
stone, an’ the coffin become light all to onct, an’ they 
knew the devil had come an’ smuggled off the body. They 
didn’t open the empty coffin out of respect to the feelin’s 
of his relatives, an’ jes’ buried the coffin, as it were. But 
the man he had gone off to everlastin’ torments, where 
the fire dieth not an’ the worm is not squelched, but the 


ARGONAUTS. 


23 


smoke of ^em ascendeth for ever and ever. Another law- 
yer as I knew — 

'^The use of fire for torture,” interrupted Meeks, seeing 
that it was high time to dam up this talking mill sluice, 
an utterly unnatural and monstrous abuse of that ele 
ment, sprang up among men of devilish and unnatural 
cruelty. It remained for a later age to adopt the belief of 
those rabbis who crucified the man Jesus, that the 
Creator would abuse the powers of fire (for ever!) for the 
same fiendish purposes for which they abused it for an 
hour or two in the case of some writhing and shrieking 
victim. The torture of worms, Herodotus says, was tried 
now and then by old Persian despots. The mind of man 
has, as yet, so far recoiled from imputing so refined a bar- 
barity to the Supreme Being as to suppose, in some con- 
fused inconsistent way, that the fire, of course, is fire; but 
the worm — they donT know about.” 

As Meeks argued, a pretty girl who sat near him 
watched him with eager, admiring eyes. At the conclu- 
sion of his last remarks, which effectually parried Mrs. 
Gunn^s onslaught on fellow members of his bar, he said to 
his pretty companion in an undertone: 

Greta, listen closely, and the last vestiges of your 
belief in an orthodox hell will, I hope, be swept away.” 

Well,” exclaimed Mrs. Gunn, I donT know noth- 
ing ^bout it yet, but as I am a strait out-an’-out Tiscopal, 
I believe as all liars an^ mos' lawyers will be cast into the 
sea of glass mingled with fire an’ brimstone an’ worms, as 
the good books an’ the church articles say, for ever and 
ever.” 


24 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


'‘The Church of England,” replied Meeks, “by the 
deliberate expunging of the forty-second article, which 
affirmed endless punishment, has declared it authoritatively 
to be an open question. Since the Keformation it has been 
open in the English church, and the philosophical Plato n- 
ists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries always con- 
sidered it as such. The Christian Church has never really 
held it exclusively until now. . It remained an open question 
till the age of Justinian, 530 A. D., and, signihcantly 
enough, until two hundred years after that, when endless 
torment for the heathen became a popular theory. Purga- 
tory sprung up synchronously by its side, as a relief for the 
conscience and reason of the Church. The doctrine 
nowhere occurs in the Old Testament, nor any hint of it.” 

“ That ainT so,” asserted Mrs. Gunn. “ The holy Isaiah 
prophesies ffiout fire an^ worms.” 

“ That expression concerning unquenched fire and un- 
dying worms refers to the dead corpses in the valley of 
Hinnom or Gehenna, where the offal of Jerusalem was 
burned perpetually. The Apocalypse simply repeats the 
imagery of Isaiah, but asserts distinctly the non-endless- 
ness of torture, declaring that in the consummation not 
only death, but hell also, shall be cast into the lake of 
fire.” 

Mrs. Gunn shook her head doubtfully. 

“The doctrine of endless torment,” continued Meeks, 
“was a historical fact, brought back from Babylon by the 
rabbis. It was a very ancient primary doctrine of the 
Magi, an appendage of their fire kingdom of Ahriman, 


ARGONAUTS. 


25 


and may be found in the old Zends, long prior to Chris- 
tianity. St. Paul accepts nothing of it — never making the 
least allusion to the doctrine. 

How ^bout the sheep and the goats ? asked Mrs. 
Gunn, explosively. 

That parable,” replied Meeks, speaks expressly of 
nations. Neither you nor 1 are a nation. So do not be 
disquieted. Gibbon^s Decline and Fall of the Eoman 
Empire shows how true those words came, if you accept 
them as prophesy. Isaiah talks of the fire of God, and its 
effect on nations. This Jesus quoted. Such figures cause 
more reverence than do a literal interpretation of the 
Scriptures, if, as a church woman, you hold that the Old 
Testament is not contrary to the New.” 

^^Ain’t there something ■’bout Lazarus and the rich 
man^s bosom, and flames and torments, and wanting a 
drop of water to cool his parched an^ burning tongue? 
What do you think of that?” asked Mrs. Gunn, exult- 
ingly. 

^^Assuming that the Scriptures are true, which I do 
not admit,” said Meeks, '"Dives is there represented as 
still Abraham^s child, under no despair, not cut off from 
Abraham's sympathy, and under a direct moral training, 
of which the fruit appears in being gradually weaned from 
the selfish desire of indulgence. The impossibility of his 
interchanging places with Lazarus, in their spiritual state, 
is self-evident; that is the impassible great gulf. But 
nothing is said against Dives rising out of his torment 
when he has learned its lesson. The common interpreta- 


26 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


tion is merely arguing in a circle, assuming that there are 
but two states of the dead, ^Heaven and Hell,’ and then 
trying at once to interpret the parable by the assumption, 
and to prove the assumption from the parable. The old 
Crusaders wanted to hold that an* infidel went straight to 
hell. But the good kind man named Jesus came not to 
promulgate the doctrines of Tartarus. This immoral 
superstition is borrowed from the old brethren and rabbis, 
and the Christian (!) Tartarus is ten times as cruel and 
immoral as Yirgil’s, but of which no apostle seems to know 
anything whatever.” 

^^Then,” said Grefa, ‘Mvhat does all this about fire 
and worms mean?” 

‘^Whether physical or spiritual they must,” he replied, 
in all logical fairness, be supposed to do what fire and 
worms really do; that is, destroy decayed and dead matter, 
and set free the elements to enter new organisms. They are 
purifying agents in this life. Worms prevent putrefac- 
tion, hinder infectious epidemics, devour decaying matter 
and render it innoxious — finally transmuting it into new, 
living and healthy organisms. The office of fire in this 
world is much the same — to devour dead matter. On this 
physical earth, there is no other fire, no other worms, than 
these beneficent ones. If a metaphorical fire and worms, 
they must be like this, or your Bible uses words at random, 
or deceptively. Perhaps, into some unquenchable fire, will 
be cast, hereafter, all shams, lies, pedantries, hypocrisies, 
tyrannies, false doctrines, and the fat women who love 
them too well to give them up. Such a lie is the concep- 


ARGONAUTS. 


27 


tion of fire as an engine of torture, an unnatural use of 
that agent not to be attributed to the Creator without 
blasphemy and insult.^^ 

At this point in the research into the question of hell, 
the interested listeners suddenly became aware that the 
dancing was over. The soft harp music stopped, and the 
bustling from the salon bubbled over into the adjoining 
court of the disputants. The members of the dancing- 
class, mostly bright young girls, in white dresses with a 
spray of green or flowers, came into that back parlor and 
chatted for a few minutes with the Northerners of their 
acquaintance, or with the Southern Mrs. Gunn. Then, 
with their mothers or brothers, they said Goodnight” 
and went away. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE LEGEND OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

“ The warden looked down at the dead of the night 
On the graves where the dead were sleeping, 

And, clearly as day, was the pale moonlight 
O’er the quiet churchyard creeping. 

One after another the gravestones began 
To heave and to open, and woman and man 
Rose up in their ghastly apparel.” 

—The Dance of Death, 

Simon A. Meeks, Esq., Attorney and Counsellor-at- 
Law, was stalwart and well formed, of a stature measuring 
six feet or more. He was handsome, too, some said, 
except as to his eyes — which sunk like bullets under caver- 
nous brows — and except a noteworthy projecting jaw. 

As the Ziiologist descends from man, in the scale of 
life, to the lower classes of animals, he finds prominence 
of jaw accompanying lack of intelligence. In the inferior 
animals the jaws must do the entire work of eating, unas- 
sisted by an intellect and the consequent skill of other 
organs. And when Nature has refused a brain that will 
tell its owner how to lighten the necessary labor of the jaws, 
she makes up for the deficiency by giving such size and 
strength to the latter as will enable them to fulfill their 
functions without mental help. Projecting jaw character- 
izes the lower human races. The brute Feejee Islander 
has this facial defect : he tears food with his teeth and eats 


THE LEGEHD OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


29 


it hard and raw. Civilized man softens his by cooking, 
and cuts it with knife and fork: from this species the 
sculptor chooses his ideal. As the art of living has 
advanced, the intellect has grown with it. From the 
state of the ancient Briton, or the present Hottentot, each 
new step, each new invention or appliance, has required an 
increase of mind. Thus, that simultaneous enlargement 
of the brain and recession of the jaws, which, among lower 
animals, has accompanied increase of skill and sagacity, 
has continued during tlie progress of humanity from bar- 
barism to civilization, and has been, throughout, the result 
of a discipline involving the increase of mental power. 
There is a tell-tale relationship between protuberant jaws, 
which instinct calls ugly and an inferiority of nature. In 
the ideal Greek head the forehead projects much, while 
the jaws recede. In the case of Meeks there was a slight 
recession of the forehead ; this and the noticeable protuber- 
ance of the lower jaw announced that, with all his admira- 
ble erudition, his brain somewhere w'as imperfect, either 
in intellect, or in moral sense. 

He was demure, sleek and cat-like. One had an indefi- 
nite feeling that here was a savage Bushman, with his can- 
nibal jaw ; miraculously whitened, dressed in European 
costume, and schooled, but in the cavern of whose mind 
there dwelt neither conscience nor human love. Only the 
animal interest of devouring was his, even as to the pretty 
Greta by his side, to whom, rumor correctly said, Mr. 
Simon Meeks was engaged. To all outward seeming, 
however, he strayed not from a strait and narrow path. 


30 


THE MADOH’HA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


He had allurements enough to have fascinated a child lihi 
Margareta Lind, and hold her in thrall just as a child can 
be charmed by a soft, gliding, curling snake. Apart 
from the vague mark which branded him, not a deformity, 
he was as attractive to the eye as the noblest marble carv- 
ing which ever formed a whited sepulchre. To this 
graceful, gliding, curling, writhing being, the Chicago 
heiress was mentally bound — hand and foot. 

And ^"Greta?^^ Was a willowy young girl, with a 
face regular and handsome, whose cheeks blushed with 
health and roses, and whose bright eyes shone like stars from 
the blue depths of a night in May ; her waving golden haii 
clustered about the fairest young brow ever seen ; her bear- 
ing was haughty, beautiful and imperious, but she was onl^? 
young as yet and, like a brilliant crescent, was far from 
having reached her full splendor. To see her once was to 
long to behold her again. 

What a good night for a ghost story! ” she exclaimed. 

The last of the dancers had gone. The massive front 
doors of the old mansion had closed upon the outside 
storm, which now swept the streets and rattled on the 
trembling windows. The moon had set and the night was 
black and dismal. All the guests of Mrs. Slidell were in, 
and they clustered about the bright fire in the comforta- 
ble back parlor with quiet satisfaction. 

A very appropriate evening, indeed, echoed Meeks. 

And the wind, alawyer^s kindred spirit, seemed to moan 
in company, *yes/’ and then rumbled in the chimney with 
sudden force as if about descending to tell a very gruesome 


THE LEGEND OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 31 

tale, which might refute his argument against the 
infernal regions. It appeared also that the hurricane was 
about to bring along some illustrations, for there was a 
roaring all at once as if the Aerial Giants of the Brocken 
had broken loose, or the Were- Wolves of the Black Forest, 
or as if some other equally sociable flocks of grim, gaunt 
spectres, were dancing on the housetops, making a night of 
it in New Orleans — a Walpurgis Night. Rushing, wailing 
sounds angrily shook the ancient walls; somewhere, off in 
the distance, were confused, hoarse clamors as if a 
howling ocean were tumbling inland. Then, whirling 
overhead with crazy tumult, giving a flerce, long shriek, 
the witches of the air swept on, leaving an interval of 
rest. A queer little clock over the mantel shelf, on which 
Father Time automatically raised his scythe, then said in 
a still, small, silvery voice that it was ^^one^^-quarter past 
ten. 

‘^How would you all like to hear the legend of Pass 
Christian asked Grace Slidell. 

‘^It^s mighty uncertain to bet on how much, but Tis 
safe to stake your pile," was Greta^s enthusiastic answer 
to this last proposition; ^‘iPs news to me, though, that 
Pass Christian has any legend." 

‘"It is mamma’s story," returned Grace, “and it is 
pretty old news with us. It dates back to her grandfather. 
He saw the phantom ship which haunts that coast." 

“Well, I’m going to Pass Christian after Mardi Gras," 
said Greta, “and if your mother don’t tell it right now. 
I’ll have a conniption fit." 


32 


THE MADOKHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


All glanced at the silent, sweet-faced lady in black, in 
whose pensive eyes the old-time memories were gathering. 
Would she tell the story? ^^Yes.” And in the happy 
faces of the group which circled round the hearth, the fire- 
light glowed again. 

For a moment before beginning, Mrs. Slidell medi- 
tated. A family portrait looked down upon her from the 
wall, the grave countenance of her grandfather. The 
old painting was so admirable in design and tone, that the 
quiet dignity of the watching face did not seem that of 
mere canvas. A delicate, warm light shone on the 
forehead and imparted a golden hue to the old-fashioned 
collar, while a stray beam brought the hand into realistic 
prominence. Features, gray beard and moustache, heavily 
painted, were well defined and almost chiseled by the 
brush. The greenish tint of the coloring enhanced the 
effect. Full of animation, with dark eyes strangely life- 
like in the tremulous phantom of flickering light which 
reached it from the fire, the face seemed to brighten 
as if the coming story had a peculiar interest for one 
who now belonged to the unseen world. 

Lifting her eyes to those of this portrait, Mrs. Slidell 
let her gaze rest there, wistfully. Then, under the aus- 
pices of the screaming gale without, which now knocked 
at the heavy oaken door as if it wished to enter, and now 
drove at the windows as though it would beat them in, she 
related the story which is contained in the two following 
chapters. 


CHAPTER IV. 


‘‘THE RIVER.^^ 

“Upon the far horizon 

Like a picture of the mist, 

Appears the towered city 
By the twilight shadow’^s kissed.”— Sawe. 

It flows on, foaming, yellow, marvelously broad, over 
shifting mud flats, by windy plains and pampas where 
millions of wild cattle roam, under fogs from the sea, and 
finally out by the throne of the fairest city in the Southern 
ocean. In “Rio,^^ they speak of going down to “ the 
river, but it is not even the mighty Amazon which is thus 
defined. Its poetic Spanish name is the River of Silver, 
— el Rio de la Plata. A more fitting designation would 
• have been the River of Gold, for its waters are not clear 
and argent. Only sixteen years after an Italian proved 
that the world was round, two Spanish navigators, in 
rounding it, stumbled upon the Silver River. They landed, 
planted a cross, took some slaves, and were then, in due 
course, murdered. For many years afterward the Indians 
betrayed a similar repugnance to Christian immigration. 
Perhaps the benighted savages had not heard of those 
missionaries, Cortez and Pizarro, nor experienced the Holy 
Inquisition. But, welcome or no, the pale-face persisted 
in visiting the banks of that river. Slavery and death 
gradually induced its former proprietors to relinquish 

3J 


34 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


their claims. Portugal and its colony, Brazil, claimed 
empire over the Eastern shore. To the south and west of 
La Plata the Spaniards held the Argentine. The river 
flowed between the Portuguese and Spanish claims and 
formed a natural boundary. ' But instead of Portuguese 
spreading down to its banks through their back- woods from 
Eio, the Spaniards sailed over from Buenos Ayres and 
eventually colonized the Eastern shore. These colonists, 
called ^‘Orientals,^’ revolted successfully against Brazil, 
and were attached to the vice-royalty of Buenos Ayres. To 
this day the people of Uruguay call themselves ‘Hhe 
Orientals.^^ 

The Banda Oriental” and Buenos Ayres after a while 
threw off the yoke of old Spain and together defeated the 
common enemy. Then the two allies fought each other 
until La Banda Oriental was declared independent of 
Buneos Ayres. Brazil supposed that, divided, they would 
fall, and its Portuguese marched down upon the devoted 
little nation like the Syrian host. The Banda asked aid 
from its former ally and enemy, and thus three actors came 
upon the stage. The war tragi-comedy went on until 
Great Britain, interfering, dropped the curtain amid red 
Are that was very realistic. Then the disputed ground 
was declared independent under the title, “Republica 
Oriental del Uruguay.” 

That was in 1828. Soon afterwards a presidential elec- 
tion brought the usual South American results. The unsuc- 
cessful candidate made war on the majority. This was 
bad, but the case was aggravated when he asked the 


THE RIVER. 


35 


Buenos Ayres dictator to step in and help. General Rosas 
came, and helped himself, but never stopped until twenty- 
one long, dismal years of war had rolled by. In 1849, 
Brazil implored of England and France, in the name of 
peace and prosperity, and for the love of concord, to cross 
the ocean and stop that eternal row. Men-of-war block- 
aded Montevideo. Treaties were made, and two years 
later they deposed the bloody Rosas, who, in the natural 
course of events, was assassinated. (No great South 
American ever dies a natural death.) The war of the red 
Rosas being thus happily concluded, they had peace. 
That is, peace abroad. At home the enterprising General 
Flores revolted. His rebellion lasted four years. As it 
went on, Brazil and Paraguay grew impatient, entered the 
ring and, began fighting each other within the Banda. 
This easy, informal use of their territory arrested the 
attention of the Orientals. They paused from shooting 
and stabbing each other, united their factions under 
Flores, sided with the Brazilians, and shot and stabbed the 
intrusive Paraguayans until the latter were over the river. 
Then Brazil was in turn fought out — voluntary retirement 
without war was, of course, not to be dreamed of — and 
Flores was provisional president.” Provisional ! fatal 
word ! 

Unluckily, they signed a treaty of peace. It proved to 
be anything but a peaceful treaty. Had it not been for 
that, those amiable countries might have rested, not on 
speaking terms perhaps, but yet quietly, from sheer ex- 
haustion. The treaty had to be construed, and the Para- 


36 


THE MADON-HA OF PAoS CHRISTIAN. 


giiay lawyers got to talking until it was too much for 
8panish-American equilibrium. In February the treaty was 
signed. In May, Brazil, Uruguay and Argentine were all 
in arms under awful oaths never to lay them down against 
the wretched Paraguay, until she and her lawyers were 
buried as deep as their argument’s. But the presidents 
who swore were all soon deposed and assassinated. Uru- 
guay backed out, and fighting gradually died away — this 
time without a treaty of peace. 

Following the example of their father, the sons of 
Flores then headed a revolution against him. At this, 
foreign war vessels in the port tlireatened bombardment, 
and the family jars were healed. Papa Flores resigned, 
however — it was too much for him — and within a month 
died, suddenly, of the same distressing and incurable 
South American epidemic which cut off so many other 
leaders in their prime. 

Into this mercurial country Sefior Vineiro came to live. 
He was an elderly and scholarly Portuguese gentleman, 
owner of rich diamond mines in Brazil, at the source of 
the Paraguay river, near Diamantura. There were no 
railroads then, and these mines communicated with the 
outside world by boats down the Paraguay to Buenos 
Ayres — thence out to sea. At Buenos Ayres rich old 
Vineiro met the young and fascinating Spaniard, Senorita 
Dona Julia Eegalea. Falling in love with her queenly 
beauty, he obtained her hand, but not her heart, in 
marriage. 

One was a subject of Spain ; the other, of Portugal. 


THE RIVER. 


37 


So bride and bridegroom departed from the exclusively 
Spanish Buenos Ayres, and sailed down the river to the 
Oriental country, peopled mostly by Spaniards, but held 
by Brazil. There they established themselves in a mag- 
nificent quinta (villa) in the elegant suburbs of Monte- 
video. 

The bridal home was buried in a wilderness of fiowers, 
and the shady grove around echoed with rich, sweet 
warhlings of song-birds. Lulled to sleep by lapping 
fountains in the marble courts of her mansion that were 
romantic at moonlight as Alhambra^ amused by the 
strolling players which fill that musical land, it might have 
been thought that the Dofla’s days would glide by like a 
beautiful dream. But cheerless is the mansion and empty 
the song where love is wanting, and the pretty wife had 
been given, or sold, in accordance with native custom, 
by parents careless of their daughter’s affection. Satiated 
with gold, diamonds and all the wealth of Pluto, this un- 
willing young Proserpine sighed for the fresh fiowers of 
her own dear world, the free, wild pampas of the Banda 
Occidental, and a daring ride across Argentine plains with 
a young caballero whose name she could have mentioned, 
and to the midnight serenade of whose guitar she fain 
would listen. Such were her unsatisfied longings when a 
ship, far out at sea, like her, was beating against head 
winds, vainly trying to weather another impassible cape. 

The good ship Nightingale, from New York, was 
bound for Peru, and going round Cape Horn. It was the 
Southern summer. In those high latitudes the ice then 


38 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


melts and the sea is filled with dangerous floes. These 
were breaking up, and steaming in the sun, obscuring 
their neighborhood with fog. Among such invisible dan- 
gers, the Nightingale's voyage was perilous. Tacking to 
and fro, she neared the mountains of Tierra del Fuego. 
There, one of the terrible Willi Walli squalls, as Patagon- 
ians call them, came crashing down the mountain side with 
as little warning as a moccasin snake, carried away the 
foremast, and dashed the vessel, unmanageable, among 
floating icebergs until she well-nigh foundered. The 
pumps were started, but the water gained on them, and 
little by little the cargo was thrown overboard. The leak 
was deep under water ; the unfortunate vessel settled 
steadily ; nearly all the cargo ended its voyage in the Ant- 
arctic, and then it was a question whether it were worth 
while to go on without freight. 

Captain Dane, the master and part owner, finally de- 
cided to put about his dismasted vessel and head for the 
nearest great seaport. Thus it was toward that river 
where Captain Garibaldi, of the good ship Italiay once 
sailed in and out, that Captain Dane set his course and 
trimmed his remaining canvas. He passed by reefs and 
rocky points, by light-houses which never shone, to where 
Flores Island loomed above the horizon. A treeless plain 
lay to the eastward. Beyond, to the west, grew a strikingly 
tall and conspicuous tree, the first met with on the coast. 
The course was steered by compass, until, through the tel- 
escope, this tree looked ”, as sailors say, in a certain 
direction. The very full tree next westward resembled a 


THE RIVER. 


39 


large 08 k and stood on top of a range of hills, in bold relief 
against the sky. On either side of its base grew low 
clumps of bushes. Further on, was a third sentinel tree 
whose dark foliage half hid behind the slope of the hill on 
which it grew. When these three trees were all brought to 
bear upon a certain line, like a file of soldiers, the Night- 
ingale knew she was safe in the channel and manoeuvred 
into Montivideo. 

This city’s foreign inhabitants had concluded that it 
was high time to secure themselves, though the rest of the 
natives might, in consequence, go to the dog Cerberus. 
So, between them and the turbulent country, all around 
the city they built a mammoth wall. They lived by com- 
merce and made the interior warriors uncomfortable by 
refusing their merchandise passage through the city gates. 
Another distraction was the desire of those infatuated 
Orientals to have the biggest army in the world. Whether 
recruits were procured in accordance with international 
law was a matter of indifference. Such was their mania 
that they had impressed not only their own subjects, but 
of other nations. Prospectors, chance travelers, were 
rather taken aback at waking up some morning and find- 
ing themselves in the Oriental army. In the course of 
time (previous to his expected assassination), the then 
President had gleaned Brazilians, Peruvians, Frenchmen, 
some Germans, more than one Englishman and Spaniards 
— particularly Spaniards. Naturally all these countries 
expostulated; they desired La Banda to sort out its crooked 
collections — to render unto each the things belonging to 


40 THE MADON'NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

each. But the Banda hesitated a trifle; consequently 
many men-of-war were gathering at the river. 

Not long was Oapt. Dane anchored in the harbor before 
he found that many citizens anticipated that their coun- 
try would soon be the theatre of another long and bloody 
strife with Brazil. Differences with that belligerent 
neighbor had arisen, and wealthy people were preparing 
to leave. Lucky the idle merchant vessel who then 
arrived, for it could not fail to be in demand by fleeing 
inhabitants who wished to carry themselves and their wealth 
to havens of safety. 

Sefior Vineiro was one who could not risk a stay 
through a war. Just as easy as it was to decide that he 
must depart from ^^La Banda was it difficult to deter- 
mine whither. If to Rio Janeiro, his young wife would 
pine among strangers and their foreign tongue, and the 
deadly fever might carry her away — very far, indeed. If, 
on the other hand, he went to live in Buenos Ayres, com- 
munication with his Brazilian mines might be severed, 
and he himself might be in danger of maltreatment from 
Spaniards, as a Portuguese with whose nation they were 
at war. Did the worthy old gentleman also distrust that 
wild ride across the free pampas which his young wife so 
fancied? Quien sabe9 The upshot of this consultation 
was that Vineiro decided to sell his Brazilian and Oriental 
3states, and emigrate to the French or Spanish-speaking 
portion of the United States, where he might hope for 
peace at last. 

Dane was no rough sailor, educated only in seaman- 


THE RIVER. 


dl 


ship. Of a wealthy Connecticut family, a college gradu- 
ate, he had learned the trade of the sea first, as an 
amateur yachtsman, afterwards as a supercargo for a New 
York firm. Traveled, imbued with European culture, 
having read much in mid-ocean hermitage, altogether it 
was a courtly, polished gentleman whom Vineiro intro- 
duced to Dofla Julia one day as ‘‘ el capitan,^* whose vessel 
he had chartered to carry them to the United States. 
Lovely Dona Julia greeted the handsome man of the world 
with a smile and a blush, which, if it signified aught, 
was lost on the old husband. Before the repairs necessary 
to the Nightingale could be made, and before Vineiro 
could settle his affairs, a nK)nth or two must elapse. Dur- 
ing this period Vineiro observed that his Dofla was 
depressed. Attributing her sadness to homesickness, he 
invited the young American to visit and cheer her by 
describing the great and happy country to which she was 
going. 

Mi casa es d su dispocion de F.”(“My house is at 
your disposaU^), said the affable Don, in the courtly Span- 
ish fashion. ‘"Come often; bring the grand violin which 
the Seflora likes so much.” 

Indeed, well she might. The captain had a divine old 
Stradivarius, in whose timbers the tenderness of centuries 
of melody had gathered. The echoes of many an ancient 
harmony hovered about and blended with its modern 
song, as if the dead and gone old masters had sent 
invisible wraiths to kindle the music of the New Jerusalem 
there. During many a lonely night-watch on the ocean 


42 


THE MADOJTNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


desert it had been a living companion to Captain Dane. 
He had learned its moods and could attune them to 
Doha Julia\ until their swift current swept her into the 
rapids of a Niagara. 

The Spanish dames of ‘^The River country were then 
(as now) noted for their accomplishments and taste in 
music. Many a sefiorita was sent to Europe for her educa- 
tion. The talented Doha Julia had learned in Italy King 
David^s cunning upon the harp, and it was not long before 
their souls, like their matchless instruments, were joined 
in passion and harmony. They met under grape-vine 
arbors, by fountains which played as gaily as they, and in 
the dark moon-shadows of secret groves. Meanwhile, the 
old Don was away, ‘‘ up country/’ coining his lands into 
money. 

What, children, do you suppose was the result? 

In a month after Dane’s first visit, Vineiro returned 
from a journey to Buenos Ayres. Although Julia’s former 
home, she had declined to accompany her husband thither, 
alleging ill-health. On his return the husband brought 
with him a growing, climbing rose for his wife to trans- 
plant in the United States. He saw her swinging in a 
hammock in the garden, unconscious of his return, and 
reading. Wishing to give her a pleasant surprise he stole 
past her on the velvety turf, unnoticed; she heard only 
bees humming and birds twittering. He entered the 
house and her private chamber, where he left the flower- 
pot on her marble table. Something caught his eye as 
he turned to go — a white cambric Ji uulkerchief lying on 


THE RIVER. 


43 


the floor; the room had been very recently disordered — so 
lately, indeed, that it was not yet re-arranged. There- 
fore, the owner of the dropped handkerchief must have 
gone but a little while ago, and old Vineiro might have 
recalled how cordially his sociable friend, the sea captain, 
l)owed when he met him on the street near by. His wife^s 
liandkerchiefs were small and embroidered. This was 
plain and large. Had he lifted it, he would have seen the 
embroidered word, ^^Dane.’’ But there are those who, 
having eyes to see, see not. When Dona Julia had once 
experienced how much more racy were the lover’s kisses 
than the husband’s, she idolized Dane ever after, and 
many a time were the two happy in each other’s arms. 
Even after Vineiro’s final return, before the Nightingale 
sailed, Dofia Julia and the captain found means of being 
frequently together, to their great mutual joy. 

The sun went down upon ‘‘The River,” and the shad- 
ows gathered around the deserted home, as the Nightin 
gale flew out toward the ocean with her store of gold and 
precious freight. At the vessel’s stern was old Vineiro, 
leaning against the taffrail, and as he watched his fading 
home, around which the shore lights twinkled like fire-flies, 
nameless forebodings oppressed him. The darkness which 
settled upon the receding shores fell over him like a pall, 
and he committed himself and his treasures to the deep, 
with the feeling of one whose physician tells that he has 
but a few more hours to live. 

Yet, there, in the fading distance, was the conical Mont, 
from which Monte- video was named, with its beacon light 


44 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


wiitchingover him, he fancied, as if to cheer him on his way. 
But its farewell beams shone fainter and fainter, until the 
last tiny gleam had died away. Some indefinable terror 
made him shiver, as in the gloom which enshrouded him 
two dusky forms approached like spirits of darkness. But 
they were only his wife and the captain he employed, so 
amiable and sympathizing as to ask him to come below to 
play cards and drink. 

Beautiful was that voyage. All day long, through a 
vast blue sphere, their spreading white sails were rushing ; 
and over the calm waters of an indigo sea they drew a 
snowy trail of foam ; at night their path was seething fire. 
There were meteor lights in that blue dome below, as well 
as from above ; weird slow fires burned around them in the 
dark water, and crests of phosphorescent flame billows, 
breaking, would scatter millions of tiny sparks which 
swirled away smouldering; flaming serpents wriggled by 
and uncouth blazing monsters grinned upon them until it 
was clear that the wicked Dane and Julia had by mistake 
fallen in with the Florentine's Inferno. But they did not 
seem to mind it much. For in the warm evenings, after 
hammocks were piped down^^ and the first watch set, the 
two musicians would be on deck. The master’s violin, 
with its old-world melody accompanied by a harp 
entrancing enough to have fallen from heaven and 
which throbbed under the hand of a fallen angel, would 
together twine such witcheries as they sailed on through 
the infernal sea, that even the pure stars above were 
tempted into listening, and doleful old Vineiro smiled. 


THE RIVER. 


45 


Each night also, after their sweet concerts of song, the 
musicians would have a still sweeter concert by taking the 
smiling old husband below to poker and sherry, until, 
from the strange effects of the latter, his sleep was heavy 
and hard. Then Dofla Julia would rise and softly retire 
with her captain, where she remained, to her great satis- 
faction, through the greater part of the night. But there 
came a time when this grew inconvenient. Moreover, the 
complaisant husband began to say that ‘ that wine made 
his head ache/ and would no longer be ^ sociable with a 
friendly glass. ^ 

Gradually the southern trades, which at first blew them 
along so well, died away, and the Nightingale entered the 
region of the doldrums. Here the light, variable breeze 
shifted uneasily from all quarters of the compass. Often 
there were calms when the idle ship in the glassy ocean lay 
like the dead. One Sunday night every puff of air ceased; 
and the flapping sails, tired out, sunk sleepily against tlie 
masts, until in the death-like calm the ship was still as a 
tomb. Seated among the other shadows of the spar-deck 
were two darker shades, who, like witches of Endor, with 
violin and harp, their familiar spirits, were bringing up 
from the deep an old man covered with a mantle, whose 
name was Sebastian Bach. His First Prelude, changed 
by Dane into an Ave Maria, rose like the solo in a con- 
certo, upon the softly playing orchestra of the waves. 
The voluptuous harper, with the upward gaze of a min- 
strel who would recall a forgotten legend, sang to the 
Holy Virgin. But it was rather the memories of the River 


46 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CUkISTIAN. 


which found their voice with lier, and the music of her 
heart was a hymn to the siar called Vends. What a charm 
there was in that starlight lay, in that languid tropic air, 
the cloud-reflected streaks of light and darkness upon the 
sleeping ocean, the hum and stir of its waves — restless as 
one who uneasily dreams; the chiming of the ship’s bells, 
the starry images looking up from the great, black shimmer- 
ing mirror beneath! While their sailor audience listened 
breathless, to the bewitching strains that were stealing 
like better angels in the shadows of the decks, their own 
souls floated away as upon a sea of melody; its w'aves 
swelled and thrilled with sensitive tremblings, and then 
died away, so gradually, that no one could tell when the 
notes ceased vibrating. Again the mellow harmony, ris- 
ing and falling, richly ascended in ecstasy and splendor, 
up to where night’s celestial diamonds glittered in their 
azure setting; again the waning tremor, and then the 
spirit of old Bach departed into the divinest liquid region 
of the earth ever spread before human eyes, down into 
his limpid house of crystal, back to those young water 
maidens, who, with their slender forms and flower faces, 
and their waving golden hair, make the music of the sea, 
and inspire the masters of the land. 

The minstrels of the Nightingale had sung their last 
lay and had passed their last happy hour in the exquisite 
inthrallment which only the comparatively innocent can 
know. When the Ave Maria was ended, Dane com- 
manded the men on watch to go below and sleep. 

^ The barometer indicated that the calm would continue 


THE RIVER. 


47 


through the night/ he said; ^if he wanted them he would 
call them; as the Sabbath was a day of rest, they might 
observe its night.' 

Though surprised at this display of religious feeling 
from so unexpected a source, the crew thankfully obeyed 
and went below to their hammocks. Before doing so, it 
was noticed that the captain changed the helmsman. 
The wheel was taken by one who had held himself aloof 
from the crew; of whose past nothing was known; and who, 
from his villainous face and lock-step manner of walking, 
was secretly nicknamed “ the jail-bird." 

When the last sailor had disappeared below the hatches, 
the captain walked over to the davits where the life boat 
hung, and for a few moments stood in its shadow. Then 
he and Julia asked the husband to come to the card table 
in the cabin. The old gentleman demurred, saying that 
the hour was late, and that, besides being weary, he was 
* unusually depressed. Then the Doha, beautiful as the 
enchantress Circe, flung her soft bare arms about her 
husband's neck. Smiling into his eyes and pressing her 
bosom against his, she besought him, with extraordinary 
earnestness, to play just one game, and then, she said, she 
would never ask him again. 

How could the old man resist the young w#man? The 
trio entered the cabin and closed the door behind them. 
The helmsman stood on the poop and searchingly looked 
around. The decks were solitary and deserted; the tired 
sailors below were as quiet as if in their graves. This 
sentinel then looked through the open sky-light down into 


48 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the cabin, to see the young wife there offer the husband a 
glass of wine. That the old man rejected. He then saw 
her press it upon him, and saw him push it away finally 
and peremptorily, when she passionately turned aside and 
looked up at the watching helmsman; it was a demon 
then seemed to glance up from the blazing depths of her 
beautiful eyes. Then the three seated themselves at the 
card table. They played until it was the old man^s turn to 
deal — which he began to do. Capt. Dane then excused 
himself and arose. He passed around the table to the 
rear of Vineiro’s chair, pretending that he was about to step 
outside the cabin door. Meanwhile Vineiro was still hand- 
ling the cards. 

“My Sefior, you have made a misdeal ! said Senora 
Vineiro, with a sudden movement. “ Do you see ? ” 

As these words fixed the attention of the surprised and 
bewildered dealer, Dane, standing behind him, raised a 
short hatchet from its hiding-place in the pocket of his ^ 
“pea- jacket, and, swift as a stroke of lightning, buried 
it in Senor Vineiro^s brain. 

The old man fell back without a groan. The two 
dragged his body to the after cabin ports, attached heavy 
weights to it, and then threw it overboard. As Dane had 
foreseen from the barometer, a light breeze soon sprang 
up. He and the helmsman trimmed the sails, which soon 
carried the vessel knots away from where the body went 
down. Then the watch below was called. Meanwhile 
Dofia Julia had retired to her cabin. The night wore on. 
As the sailors were about the decks, coiling down gear, 


THE RIVER. 


49 


hoisting halliards here and there, or hauling home a sheet 
to economize the favoring breeze, when they heard a shriek. 
Out from the cabin rushed the Spanish wife, in a loose 
night robe, wailing and wringing her hands, and crying 
that her beloved Portuguese husband had just gone insane 
and jumped out of their state-room window, overboard. 

Lay aft the life-boaPs crew!’’ shouted Dane; ^‘weather 
main and lee cross-jack braces! Hard down! Haul taut! 
Brace aback V* 

With much bluster he backed the sails and ‘Miove to.’^ 
The life-boaPs falls seemed to have been jammed in some 
unusual way not readily discoverable in the darkness. 
The Captain damned the ' lubber who tended those falls,' 
adding, that ‘^probably the man would be overboard for 
good by the time the boat was lowered." 

This prophesy was fulfilled. Gone to the bottom of 
the sea was Sefior Vineiro. At first the crew attributed 
his death to the delay in lowering the life-boat, and the 
lovers supposed that they were safe. The secret was their 
own, and their accomplice, the helmsman, was an ex-pirate 
who relished the little business transaction which enriched 
him with sundry Brazilian jewel caskets. The Nightin- 
gale flew northward through the same blue sea. The 
white Southern Cross looked down upon them as serenely 
as before. But the voyage to Louisiana was still long. 
Night after night the mild stars looked down on Julia 
with the gaze of One who sorrowed, and, little by little, 
she began to feel remorse. She had loathed Vineiro. She 
still loved Dane, and ivceived an arnple return. But 


50 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


their union was not so sweet as when a stolen pleasure. 
Their evening duets seemed to lose part of their charm. 
Baches ^^Ave Maria was never heard again. The Doha 
put aside with a shudder all the solemn music of her 
church ; habaneras y cuecas, and delirious Spanisli waltzes 
succeeded the classic strains which she enjoyed before she 
was oppressed by this last terrible secret. 

Such a dweller could not be quiet within her long. 
Like an inner vulture, it tore at her breast and sprang to 
her lips to be set free. A waking conscience never ceased 
to urge her to cast off her load of guilt, and one day she 
told Dane that when they came into port she would con- 
fess her crime to the priests, for absolution. Her lover 
winced. It occurred to him that the first mlirder must 
be concealed by a second. Julia was a dear girl, true, 
but the instinct of self-preservation was also strong with 
this Yankee skipper. He considered also that a future 
partnership founded on a crime might not be altogether 
agreeable. It will be remembered that Dane was from 
Connecticut, and a practical man. 

Moreover, the sailors had a growjng fashion of gather^ 
ing in knots and talking in subdued tones, and shaking 
their heads gravely, and hushing if they saw him coming, 
wliich Dane did not like at all. Either Dona Julians non^ 
sense, or some overlooked circumstance, he saw, had 
betrayed them. The next tragedy must outdo the first in 
grandeur. 

But when, where, and how ? 


CHAPTER V. 


A GOBLIK RACE. 

“ The evening shades are falling, 

The sea- fog spreads -with night ; 

Mysterious waters are calling, — 

There rises something white.” 

Pass Christian was then a small hamlet. . A few fish- 
ermen^s huts clustered about a little church on what is 
now the western side of the town. The bluffs along the 
shore to the east, now covered with beautiful villas, were 
then crowned by a wilderness. 

On the last night of winter some fishermen looked 
toward the southeast, and there, on the Gulf horizon, saw 
a ship on fire. Though very dark, the night was calm 
and mild, and small boats could venture far to sea without 
danger. Although the ship-wrecked crew could easily get 
ashore in their yawls and launches, fishing luggers put off 
to meet and aid them. The smacks had not sailed far, 
when, suddenly and unexpectedly, darkness swallowed up 
the flaming visitor as abruptly a^ if atorpedo had shattered 
it to infinitesimal atoms. 

When the rescuers reached the place where the strange 
vessel had vanished, her boats, if any, were nowhere found. 
The night was thick and search for the survivors proved 
fruitless ; so the fishermen returned, hoping that the fol- 

51 


62 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


lowing morning would reveal them safe on some of the 
Sound islands, — which were nearer the scene of the dis- 
aster than the mainland. In the gray dawn of the morrow 
an early riser in the hamlet chanced to look toward the 
desolate region which then stretched east of where the 
great hotel now stands, then uninhabited and thinly covered 
with a growth of timber. For a place so quiet and hum- 
drum, the sight which greeted him there was startling. 

On a bluff which overlooked the sea, under a lofty oak, 
five strangers were, sitting like Indian chiefs about a coun- 
cil-fire. They were grouped around smouldering embers, 
apparently waiting for day. Supposing them to be the 
wrecked survivors of the ill-fated vessel, he at once walked 
toward them to offer help. As he approached, he saw around 
their waists the scarlet banderas^’ (or silk sashes) and 
over their shoulders the parti-colored blankets which told 
that they were either natives of South America or last from 
some port of that continent. Those red belts carried dag- 
gers and pistols, and the group were as fully armed as 
pirates. 

A handsome, courtly man arose to meet him and in 
elegant English explained that he was Captain of the 
burned ship and that what appeared was all that remained 
ot last nighFs fire. ^ Rio Janeiro,^ he said, ^ was their port 
of departure.' Soon after sailing thence, yellow fever had 
broken out among the crew, and raged with such violence 
that only he and his four companions were left. ‘ To lose 
their ship after that,' piously exclaimed the Captain, 
made him think that he was forsaken by God.' Thus 


A GOBLIX RACE. 


53 


did he account for so small a crew and for his present 
plight. 

Misfortunes like these naturally awakened universal 
sympathy. The good villagers welcomed them with all 
heartiness. But their hospitality was returned, strangely 
enough, with taciturnity, and the mysterious sailors 
appeared to keep aloof from their would-be friends. They 
never spoke of their voyage; perhaps they did not like to 
dwell mournfully on past trouble. 

Time went by. Instead of going to wherever his home 
might be, the Captain^s misfortunes had been such (he 
said) that he intended to forsake a sailor^s life, buy a plan- 
tation on the spot where the land first received him and 
there settle with his honest followers. 

One of the sailors was a Frenchman, from Martinique. 
He went to New Orleans and then to France. The others 
remained with their captain, occupying the cabins tendered 
them by the neighborly fishermen until their own perma- 
nent homes could be built. 

That summer the peaceful hamlet of Pass Christian 
had a new visitor who was not as welcome as the ship- 
wrecked sailors. Among the hedge-rows of their little 
homes, with their white-petalled, golden-centred roses, 
when the sugar cane was growing high and green, for the 
first time in the history of that country, there stalked the 
dreaded Yellow Jack. 

Advancing to one of the mysterious strangers, the Yel- 
low guest laid him low, and in forty-eight hours he was 
dead. A week passed and a second of the refugees was 


54 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


borne to the little rude cemetery in the pine woods behind 
the village. People wondered, that when these men had 
passed unscathed through such an epidemic as besieged 
them during their voyage from Brazil, though apparently 
fever-proof, they should now be the very first to succumb. 
And the survivors were pitied for their misfortunes, 
which, indeed, came not singly; and it was remembered 
that the ways of Providence are inscrutable. 

The third was preparing to leave for New Orleans, 
and thence out of that fatal country, anywhere. But 
the very day he would have fled, the Yellow Pestilence 
clutched him and held him fast. Calling his old negress 
attendant, the sick man told her that he must die, that a 
curse lay upon them all, and then he told the story of the 
Nightingale^ and asked her to confess for him to the priest 
and ask absolution. 

He was the steersman who saw the old Brazilian mur- 
dered. Foreseeing that their crime would eventually be 
found out by the suspicious crew, or confessed by Dofla 
Julia in one of her fits of remorse, Capt. Dane bought 
over three unscrupulous seamen by promising to share the 
plunder. He then bore away from the true course and 
secretly steered for Pass Christian, where the coast was so 
lonely. At sundown on the last day of winter they saw 
land. In pretended celebration of the safe ending of the 
long voyage, grog, in large quantities, was served to the 
crew. But the rum was drugged, and at four bells in the 
first watch that night, all but five were asleep on the 
Nightingale. The carpenter’s chest of knives and axes, 


A GOBLII^ RACE. 


55 


and the five waking conspirators, prolonged their sleep 
until the dawn of the Judgment Day. After all were 
killed but Julia, the jewels and treasures were collected in 
sacks and put in a boat which was lowered alongside, 
and the Nighiingale — silent witness against them — was 
scuttled and set on fire. Finally the captain awakened 
the Dona, and, explaining what had happened, told her 
that she must prepare to die. 

She did not shriek ; she did not beg for mercy. She 
was as calm as that dark reaper who was so soon to 
garner her into his harvest. Dane and his men climbed 
into their boat, pulled away and out of reach of the sinking 
vessel, leaving the Spaniard behind them, and then lay on 
oars to see what happened. 

Dona Julia, with her harp, was at the stern of the 
burning ship. While the fire, which had been kindled in 
the bows, was slowly creeping aft, while the whole red ruin 
slowly settled in the water, her harp strings quivered, and 
her swan-song was that Ave Maria^^ which once she had 
sung to the Evening Star, and which, unheard since, was 
now a hymn indeed, but to One holier than Venus. Her 
voice in happier days was never so strangely beautiful and 
impressive . as now, when about to wing its way from earth, 
with the soul that gave it utterance. The advancing flames 
glowed around her like a halo, as she prayed in her lan- 
guage of music. Her notes went heavenwards, becoming 
faint and fainter, until at last they were heard no more. 
Kneeling, bowing and lising, the white form made the 
sign of the cross, and then, with flowing robes and stream- 
ing hair, vanished over the ship’s side into the darkness. 


56 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


The ancients believed, that between death and some 
far-off day of resurrection, the torpid soul waited in an 
uiider-world for the re-animation of its body. But He 
who ascended into heaven as a man, told him who at the 
eleventh hour trusted in Him: ^‘To-day thou shalt be 
with me in Paradise.'^ The sailors believed that she did 
not sink into the sea, but Dane jeered and said that the 
lady probably sought a cool wetting before going to the 
hot regions. 

'‘We buried the treasure — ” feebly added the dying man. 

" Whar, massa? asked the negress. 

" Ask — the — virgin, " he faltered, "to — take — me — 
too ! And he gave the account of the stolen treasure, 
as of other deeds done in the body, to another hearer 
than the old nurse. 

The Fever left only the Captain, as it went away 
hand in hand with the summer. Well, strong, and 
jaunty, that wickedest of all seemed to enjoy a charmed 
life. The hearsay of the old nurse^s tale was, of course, 
not evidence, and she could not give the names of foreign 
places or persons that might have led to a just retri- 
bution. The traces of the crime were so astutely covered 
that no legal evidence was ever found. If the murdered 
mine owner had relatives in the jungles of Brazil, they 
never sought him. In those troubled times letters were 
infrequent and the sea captain left no tracks in the At- 
lantic Ocean to guide pursuers to the retired planter. 

But that agriculturist was shunned, nevertheless. 
Mystery folded him within a shroud, and his face grew as 


A GOBLIN" RACE. 


57 


pallid as a corpse. It was observed that he kept nightly 
vigils, and those during the hours when witches fly. It 
was whispered that he and the riders of the broom-stick 
had formed an un- Christian Association, of which dread 
company he was chief wizard ; that he had sold himself 
with a deed in letters of blood, to a club-footed trader, an 
elderly gentleman, who jealously guarded his purchase 
from Yellow Jack until he should call for him in person. 

My grandfather (said Mrs. Slidell) was then a youth of 
nineteen. One night, after inspecting the timber lands 
near Pass Christian, which eventually became our plan- 
tation, he went to a rustic dance at Mississippi City, and 
returned on horseback at a late hour toward the Pass, 
where he lodged. 

He rode from the dense woods near the dance and 
came out upon the beach, winding along the bluffs where 
there was a fine view of the sea. Near midnight he ap- 
proached a stalwart oak, which cast the shadow of centu- 
ries. At something here his horse shied and so turned 
him until he faced the southeast horizon. Something 
rose up from the sea there which riveted horse and rider, 
like an equestrian statue. 

A red light ascended from the ocean, and its gleams 
across the waters were like a bloody moon. Was it some 
peculiar comet? It looked rather like a head with streams 
of fiery hair shooting up, but presently the face of the 
demon, or whatever it was, appeared to become a ship 
on fire. Masts, yards, and hull were blazing, yet they 
sailed in swiftly, with the rigging and sails writhing in 
sheeted flames. 


58 


THE MADON^HA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Turning to hurry to the village he saw what had 
frightened his horse, — only a man digging in the ground 
under the oak. The strange r^s back was toward the ocean, 
and in his pre-occupation he seemed to have observed 
nothing, for he paused in his work to hold up a woman’s 
golden bracelets ; as the star-light fell on them they glit- 
tered with gems, and were very beautiful. 

Kiding up to him who gazed on them as if he were 
in a trance, the boy aroused him with a shout and pointed 
to the sea. A pale, dignified face turned and scowled at 
the horseman, as if annoyed at the disturbance. But as 
he caught sight of the fire phantom, a sharp, fearful cry 
burst from his lips, as if his guilty soul had left its tene- 
ment and now first saw the coming flames of hell. 

Science has discovered sounds no human ear can detect, 
and colors which no human eye can see. Beyond thought 
stretches a mysterious, unknowable region. What remains 
when ^the heavens, on Are, shall be dissolved, and the ele- 
ments melted with fervent heat?’ And where is it now? 
Hidden behind the visible are other things, and one now 
stood like the burning bush of Moses, upright and still, 
revealed by Him who worked miracles to change hardened 
hearts. 

The breathless and astounded rider waited on his won- 
dering horse and soon beheld the greatest marvel of all. 
The scarlet light was shining slantwise, glistening the dark 
water where it fell like a long streak of blood. Presently 
something white appeared — perhaps two rows of fast grow- 
ing pond lilies. Bat the lilies bore a ghastly likeness to 


A GOBLIN' RACE. 


59 


human heads, and soon it was clear that rare flowers were 
springing. Pale spectres of murdered sailors were rising, 
still and solemn. Their stark forms, crouching as if not 
yet wakened from sleep, lifted above the waves, while below 
them emerged a spectral boat. As if Gorgons were rising 
from the Gulf to stare at him, the murderer’s tall form 
stiffened as if it were changing to stone. Sleeping 
ghosts sat at their oars, and boat and oarsmen lay spark- 
ling and dripping with water until some trump should 
bring them again to life. 

In a moment, with a sound like sudden thunder, the 
gleaming oars moved, a weird blue light shone out, and 
in its glow the phantom boat appeared furiously racing 
toward the shore; its luminous wake reaching astern 
showed that it was heading for the bluff where man and 
boy and horse were watching. When young Slidell saw 
that he galloped away as if chased by all the Salem witches. 
But as he rode off he looked behind to see what happened. 

The tall, red-hot spars of the ship were yet burning; 
from her hull to her royal mast, flames were crackling, but 
like that bush of Egypt, it would not consume itself 
from the sight of its incendiary. Meanwhile, the boat flew 
on in the midst of its blue light, across the intervening dis- 
tance, nearer and nearer, until the dead shapes which 
manned it, were recognized by Captain Dane. They eagerly 
looked up at him as if to greet him, they beckoned as 
they hurried towards the foot of the bluff, and pointed to 
the smoking ship. They were going to sail for the Bot- 
tomless Pit with their old skipper in command. The boat 


60 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


touched the beach and the spectral sailors leaped ashore. 
But, as they were clambering up the slope, a sound of 
music broke upon the stillness, as though a fair hand 
swept the strings of a harp, far away. It was only one 
chord, yet, as it struck, the climbing sailors and the wait- 
ing boat dissolved into clouds, and only a storm of chill, 
white vapor came rushing up the bluff. When the fog 
lifted, the lurid blaze and phantoms were gone. 

Such was the glimpse that grandfather caught of the 
spirit world, always around us, though we know it not; 
the depths of mystery from which our life came, and into 
which it goes. The rude fisherman joked the boy with 
having taken too much punch at the rural party, and with 
having mistaken the visions given by the liquid class of 
spirits for the more ethereal. There were no signs of dig- 
ging under the oak in the morning and wise skeptics be- 
lieve nothing which may be a few miles beyond the limits 
of their eyes, nose and ears. 

Yet the- morning sunshine failed to brighten Captain 
Dane. For him the apparition wasno illusion. The waves 
danced before him in the happy sunlight, sea-birds were 
gaily flitting in the pure, fresh breeze, but the joy of 
life for him had sailed to the smoking pit. Whatever his 
future punishment might be, that wicked one carried the 
beginning of his torment with him. The wages of his 
sin was death. Estranged from the Ruler of the beau- 
tiful earth, he was like a living corpse. He was 
now alone. His associates, who could have given him 
the sympathy of fellow criminals, lay under the solemn 


A GOBLIN RACE. 


61 


pines in the little village burying-ground. After the old 
negress began to mutter the simple fisherman shrunk from 
his approach. His livid face, and bloodshot eye con- 
fessed an inner hell, and on his face Caines curse was 
branded. No slaveys testimony could out-convict that, 
and whei} the little children fled from him as from 
something their unreasoning instinct told them was 
accursed, he turned away, heart-sick, to the loneliness* of 
the woods about his cabin, and was seen in the village no 
more. 

How he clung to life, when all its pleasures had gone! 
But even so do condemned murderers struggle for short 
reprieves, and the worst of all evils, suspense, instead of 
the release of speedy death ; why do such ask gloomy 
imprisonment, fetters, a cheerless cell, the prolonged 
torture of anticipation, instead of the rest of a dreamless 
sleep ? 

Beautiful is Our Father^’s earth, but all the world had 
lost its loveliness for Captain Dane. The serene beauty 
of Pass Christian, the soft autumn days, the evenings 
when the sun had sunk to rest, when the forest birds were 
hushed and sleeping in their nests, when the wild gulls of 
the sea had sought their homes, — gave him none of their 
calm. The nights went by rather like Tartarean shadows 
— only to torment him, and after long watching for dawn, 
even daybreak, with the balm of early morning, was 
cheerless as ashes. The parched Sahara through which 
his weary soul was dragging, had no green oasis nor 
ever a cooling spring to refresh his future, and yet its 
thirsty reach ended only with eternity. 


62 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


He would sit all day under the great oak on the bluffs, 
staring at the dolphins and merry fishes which tumbled and 
tossed in the sparkle of the sea as if they had found the 
same happiness which he had cast away there. Gallant 
ships would sometimes cross his ocean view, fiaunting their 
pennants and fiuttering their white wings-*- like him, 
homeward bound! This bright scene cruelly contrasted 
with his dreary heart; but it was when fogs enclosed him 
alone with himself that his tortures were keenest. Then 
his friends, the oaks who stood sentinel along the bluff and 
who watched with him, disappeared and went off some- 
where into the mists, turning traitors and becoming a part 
of the dreaded unknown. Mysterious voices from the 
invisible sea called him; the growl of unseen breakers, 
tides echoing within dark caverns and never-ceasing voices 
of the soul — rippling speech of God and self and destiny. 
But he thought them very like the soft, purling currents 
of the River and wished they could lull him. to sleep 
forever. If the grave were only a couch, and dying were 
withering like a blasted tree, how welcome would be its 
rest — how blessed, if unbroken! 

Fear scourges mean villains, but remorse is the torture 
of the brave. The night of the phantoms — an object les- 
son of past and future horror — and solitary brooding at 
length brought about a hopeless, dry sorrow for his crimes, 
the repentance of despair. He sought consolation from 
the only friend that never left him — his grand old violin. 
The wandering villager who strayed at night near the 
lonely grove which enclosed the planter's cabin heard 


A GOBLIK RACE. 


63 


beautiful and tender melodies. They rose pure and ele- 
vated; but, as if their soaring found an empty heaven, 
suddenly they, would change into the wild distracted cries 
of a lost soul that liad already begun its wailing and 
weeping in outer darkness. 

The thrilling sounds which crept up among the shiver- 
ing midnight pines came from the fathomless deeps of a 
hungry and perishing soul. Longing, yearning, wasting, 
piteously waving tendrils in the vacant air, it seemed rais- 
ing an altar of silver-toned harmony to an unknown God, 
and the grandeur of its cry from the depths made its very 
desolation sublime. 

The mild Southern winter came on. One day the 
planter sat under his oak, watching and waiting for the 
something from the Gulf. As he gazed at the white dance 
of the waves, dusky evening came shadowing downwards, 
and then a light breeze sprung up to fan his fevered 
cheeks. Heavy sorrow had weighed upon him and.crushed 
his evil will, and perhaps nature pitied him now. Its airy 
touch was as cool and sympathetic as a mother’s hand, but 
it had lost its power to comfort, and the watcher turned 
his death-cold glances toward the vault of heaven and 
looked at the stars as though they were stolen jewels. 

‘^What lies beyond those brilliant gems yonder?” he 
asked. 

For an answer there stole upon his ear the faint sound 
of what he thought never to hear again : a harp to which 
he had listened under the Southern Cross, and the sweet, 
low tones of a Spanish voice. Winding down from beyond 


64 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the stars, soothing as the lullaby over a weary child, came 
the Ave Maria, sung first on the margin of the River, and 
with which a redeemed one now called to him from the 
further shore of another River. 

It began softly, as if a counter-melody to one of his 
own. The murmur of the ineffably sweet voice, full of 
heavenly happiness, spoke of tranquility which the world 
could not give, and without which his gold and precious 
stones were all in vain. Now rising, now falling, the soft, 
balmy wind, mild and soothing, coming he knew not 
whence, passed with the song on the tides of music’s 
golden sea into eternity. Ebbing from him, the receding 
tide left him looking up as if he would follow the last deli- 
cate strains, and praying to be forgiven and purified like 
her who was already within the pearly gates. The night 
winds were sighingaround the bowed head of the kneeling 
penitent, and the coldly glittering rubies and diamonds in 
the sky changed to the eyes of angels that brightened with 
welcome until the coming of dawn. As light faded from the 
stars it entered his soul at last, and the first beautiful rosy 
beams of early morning and the communion of the Holy 
Spirit, rested together on one who had attained the peace 
which passeth understanding. 

During his last winter he tried to undo his wrong, and 
meanwhile patiently waited for death, as we must all do, 
without fear. It had no longer any sting. 

The last night of winter — the anniversary — was again at 
hand. The black cavern of midnight arched over the 
haunted oak where the mariner sat, waiting and ready to 


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A GOBLIK RACE. 


65 


sail. The breeze had died away and all was still; the trees 
had hushed to listen, and not a leaf was quivering. The only 
sound was the dull moaning of the tide, swirling over 
shallows. 

It came. From the midst of the pitchy darkness on 
the southeast horizon suddenly the red glare flashed out. 
Like an evil eye it seemed to watch him with its fixed 
malignant gaze. Then suddenly advancing, it developed 
into the fiery vessel. Threatening and enlarging, it swept 
on like an infernal torch toward the blutf. Fierce and de- 
termined, it seemed as if Satan himself was helmsman on 
that grim terror, and was not again to be cheated of his 
bargain. 

It hurried toward the bluff — yes, but in the very midst 
of its flight, it stopped, short, — as if out of its own whirl- 
wind it had heard the words, ^‘Hitherto shalt thou come, 
but, — no further.^^ Wasting and sputtering like a dying 
candle, the smouldering hull and the tall crimson cinders of 
masts shivered, trembled, broke and sunk. 

But then, — slowly and awfully again rose from the sea 
the heads and shoulders and bodies of sailors’ ghosts, and 
below, the spectre cutter. How they thronged its thwarts ! 
The boat was crowded with its ghastly crew, and one sat in 
the stern as coxwaiii, who was not there before. He was 
tall and grim, and his scarlet form glowed like a blood-red 
coal of fire. 

For a moment the rowers '^rested on oars,” stretching 
out the oar-blades at the horizontal, as if they were racers 
gathering breath while waiting the signal gun. For an 


66 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHKISTIAH. 


instant, all was in suspense and still, the immovable oars 
spread out — silent rays of white light on the dark back- 
ground of the midnight sea. Finally the crew together all 
bent double, the oars dipped, and the boat sprang for- 
ward. It swept on, gleaming with a livid blue, on, on, to- 
ward the shore. As if the King of Hell had determined 
that his former subject should not escape, his imps rowed 
forward, forward, with their own infernal speed, bending, 
pulling, drawing, tearing, straining in the soul race, strug- 
gling to gain the blu2 before another intervention from 
above. 

Powers of Darkness against Angels of Light ! How 
foolish is that race, and yet how often do men run it ! 
Like lightning from a clear sky, a great white mist fell 
upon those demon oarsmen, and its obscurity enveloped 
sea and shore. 

When the darkness of that night had lifted, when the 
Spring sunshine of the morrow kissed the dew from the 
early lilies of the valley, and gladdened the sombre boughs 
of the Haunted Oak, the soul of the artist mariner beneath 
had soared upward, like its own proud music. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THREE LOVERS. 

“ O lips full of lust and of laughter. 

Curled snakes that are fed from my breast ; 

Thou wert fair in the fearless old fashion, 

And thy limbs are as melodies yet 
And move to the music of passion 
With lithe and lascivious regret.” 

Please state, Mrs. Slidell, what became of the other 
members of the gang?’’ was the question put by lawyer 
Meeks, at the conclusion of the legend ; mean the cut- 
throat who got away to France?” 

Mr. Meeks was anxious always to display the manner of 
a great lawyer before Greta. In this instance he failed in 
accomplishing his object. 

Simon, you mean thing, you old chump,” she said, 
that’s a nice, sweet way to speak of so lovely a story! 
The Mr. Harrison who mercifully tried to send Murat 
Halstead abroad, ought to give you a consulate.” 

‘^My dear,” he explained hurriedly, ‘"gang, cut-throat, 
and the like, are only professional terms for us lawyers, 
you know. In my practice I use them so habitually before 
his Honor, that in speaking to you they slip from me 
involuntarily.” 

^^That one of those misguided men who settled in 
France,” said Mrs. Slidell, gravely, ''took with him the 

67 


68 


THE MADO>?^NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


manuscript of the Ave Maria music which the artist cap- 
tain of the Nightingale had arranged to the notes of 
Baches First Prelude, the ghost of which gave him so 
much remorse. In France the manuscript drifted into the 
hands of Gounod. That composer was struck with its 
beauty, gave it a few finishing touches and edited it.’^ 

‘^Gounod^s celebrated Ave Maria originated in the 
South Seas and by the actors in this tragedy exclaimed 
one of the ladies; I never heard that before. 

Such is its romantic beginning,^’ answered Mrs. Sli- 
dell; ^^this is an old family tradition, and for certain rea- 
sons that part of it has been kept secret. 

And the old Portuguese's money, '’^anxiously inquired 
Meeks, ‘^and jewels, what happened to them?^^ 

That, said the widow, ‘‘is a mystery. After Cap- 
tain Dane’s conversion, he wrote to Brazilian officials who 
had charge of decedent’s estates. In this letter he 
minutely describes the place of the buried treasure. The 
latter he had hesitated to deposit in the unsafe banks of 
that period. So much was learned from his papers after 
he died. Well, the sailing packet which carried that letter 
toward Brazil was never heard of, and was supposed to 
have foundered in some great cyclone. By the time the 
news of its probable loss reached here Dane was dead. 
As he had not entrusted his secret to others, it perished 
with him.” 

“ Have they ever dug for it?” said Meeks. 

“What — him or the secret?” queried the lady, with 
the ghost of a smile. 


THREE LOVERS. 


69 


Money,” answered the lawyer, money.” 

Of course,” she said, supposing the treasure to have 
been hidden beneath the oak, search was made there. 
Not only was it never found, but fatal misfortunes have 
overtaken its hunters.” 

‘‘Why, please, is the oak called Haunted?” asked 
Greta. 

“If you go there on the last night of winter, you will 
see,” said the lady in black, shaking her head. “Some- 
times such visitors perceive the burning phantom ship, or 
the ghostly cutter’s crew, or the spectral music of the 
magic violin.” 

“Well, I shall certainly go,” resolved the girl, “ devil 
or no devil. After the Mardi Gras balls are over, mamma 
and I shall goto Pass Christian, and Pll take that in.” 

“ Have a care, my child, that some gloomy captain^s 
haughty ghost does not take you in.” 

Then Mrs. Slidell rose to go. Also the other boarders 
retired, leaving two lovers in the cosy parlor alone. There 
was a contrast between the chatter of gay voices, the carol 
of harps and violins, the shuffling and sliding of many 
feet, and the present silence, and it was a contrast which 
rather abashed Greta. The ticking of the little clock 
above the mantle had suddenly grown very loud and thril- 
ling, and the image of Father Time seemed weirdly alive; 
was it only fancy, or did he menace her, moving his scythe 
by just a haiFs breadth, as if he would cut away the min- 
utes devoted to Meeks? 

“Simon!” she exclaimed. 


70 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Margareta?^^ 

We must go to bed.” 

‘^Separately, or together?” he returned. “If the 
latter, I assent. This comfortable sofa mutely entreats us 
with its cushioned arms, and we are alone.” 

By many subtle approaches in the past, his intimacy 
with Greta had become dangerously close and outspoken, 
and he drew her against his breast, kissed her ardently, and 
looked into her eyes. 

But Greta’s look just then savored more of the repellent 
than of the alluring, — though yet wavering. 

“ Yes, we are all alone in our glory,” she said, “ and I 
don’t propose to convert that glory into shame. You can’t 
make me believe that black is white, although you do come 
pretty near it. I wish you’d stop your fooling, Simon. I 
don’t chime in with your views of heathen marriage, by a 
jug-full.” 

“ My dear, let me state the case again — ” 

“ Oh, stop your teasing ! ” 

“ Reason is the only thing which reigns in this world. 
The goddess of reason, enthroned by the sans culottes of 
the French Revolution is, in my judgment, a fac-simile of 
the Creator. Assume that there is a Creator — since there 
are things created. Evidently he made man and woman 
for each other — ” 

“ With some slight restrictions! ” ejaculated Greta. 

“Yes. When a man and woman were already united 
in the bond called marriage, then the woman must not do 
anything that would tend to introduce a spurious offspring 


THREE LOVERS. 


71 


into the family. For her husband would not provide for 
another man^s child, or for the infant whom he might fear 
to be such, and thus her illicit love would tend to break 
up the family, impair the proper rearing of children and 
training of men and women, and so defeat the progress 
of creation. Therefore the cohabitation of a woman with 
a man not her husband was objected to by the seventh 
commandment, and punished. But suppose a man and 
woman meet who love each other, and who are not 
bound to any one else, and who intend to marry; 
why, pray, should they not marry, as the laws 
of nature dictate, when and where they can — in secret ? 
The ceremony of marriage before the preacher is merely 
the witnessing of the vows they take to love and adhere to 
each other always; the parties declare verbally what they 
have already secretly vowed ; the witness (the clergyman 
or magistrate) declares them married because they so will, 
and records those vows in a ^ marriage certificate.^ That’s 
all there is to it. But these witnesses by no means make 
the marriage. After all the performance, if either is 
incapable of being a wife or a husband, the marriage is 
" nullified ; ’ that is to say, a court decides that there has 
been no marriage at all — notwithstanding the legal forms. 
Thus it is the vows of two capable parties which makes 
marriage, the vows — not the clerical or magisterial wit- 
nesses. Let us vow then. Your parents object to the 
ceremony for several years. If it was morally right for 
our respected forefathers, the Britons and Celts, to form 
a marriage without ceremony, it is morally right for us. 


72 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


And that no one pretends to deny. So let ns enter into 
one of those jolly unions. which our good old barbarian 
ancestors used to form — without further ceremony. 
Other women secretly have a good time with their gal- 
lants.” 

I may not believe in hell,” responded Greta, '^but 
they say that only the pure in heart shall see God, and that 
those who overcome wicked temptations shall receive the 
crown of eternal life. This I want.” 

Greta’s slang had all left her now — in this suddenly 
precipitated crisis of her life. 

It is natural for woman to indulge in the illusions of 
hope ; we close our eyes, said Patrick Henry, to a painful 
truth, and listen to the song of that siren until she lulls 
us to sleep. Just as this pretty rose is wilting and dying, 
so you, my pretty one, must one day wilt and die. As the 
flowers, which, like you, have life, will die like you; so will 
they, like you, never have resurrection. You naturally 
indulge in the illusion of eternal life, but — close not your 
eyes to the painful truth. A physical bird in the hand is 
worth a spiritual bird in the bush. Enjoy the life which 
you have, as the goddesses of Reason and Nature suggest, 
with those who love you. For, it will end at death. That 
night soon cometh when no man can work, and when girls 
and flowers and lovers have withered forever. 

Greta glanced up at the handsome clay i mage of the 
Creator, which sat beside her on the sofa, with its animal 
look resting on hers. Meek’s joy, his blissful content, was 
the same with which the lower brutes mock human woe. 


THREE LOVERS. 


Td 


His health was perfect, and he resembled the hibernating 
bear or squirrel or snake, whose harmonious adjustment 
to their surroundings, whose entire oneness with their 
material world, yields a pleasure so perfect of its kind. 
Meeks had no more conscience or morality than the cow, 
who serenely lies down under a shady tree and chews her 
cud — and the same content. Such was Greta’s idol, to be 
garlanded with flowers from the garden of her fancy, and 
to be decorated with gems from the caskets of her imagina- 
tion, and to whom she was to sacrifice on the altar of her life 
the burnt-offering of her happiness. 

Greta looked down at the fading carpet, and Meeks 
fondly pressed his arm around her waist. 

It seems to me,^^ she said, that death, like a mother, 
only lulls us children to sleep, so to make us ready for hap- 
piness in the fresh morning.^' 

The senses dull and the body sleeps, but life is still 
there; each night the morning-glory closes its petals and 
sleeps, and in the morning wakes and opens out again. 
Pray, who thinks of arguing, from the daily sleep of the 
flowers, that when they at last wither and die they shall be 
raised again? Is it not rather the God of Nature speak- 
ing to us through them, that we must not draw an analogy 
from our waking from sleep to our waking from death?” 

‘^But what does the Bible say ?” asked Greta, mourn- 
fully. 

‘^Solomon^s words about death are utterly awful from 
their sadness. He says: ‘ That which befalleth the sons 
of men befalleth beasts; as one dieth, so dieth the other. 


74 


THE ilADOSTNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Yea, they have all one breath. All go to one place, all 
are of the dust, and turn to dust again. Who knoweth 
that the spirit of man goeth upward, and that the spirit 
of the beast goeth downward?^ He whom your Bible 
called the wisest of beings, evidently knew nothing 
about it.” 

When I ask my mother why she believes in a here- 
after, she says, ^ because I have faith, I Mow it, I feel 
it.^” said Greta, earnestly; ^^so many have such strong, 
ardent, living, faith; is that no sign of heaven?” 

That is, they believe it because they believe it. My 
dear seeker after truth,” said her lover, the amount of 
earnestness, sincerity and vivid faith in a belief, can be no 
guarantee of its truth. Why, the world’s history is full 
of delusions whose votaries had in them the most enthu- 
siastic confidence.” 

^'But have they borne good fruit?” asked Greta. 

Oh, excellent,” he returned; every day we see pro- 
found belief in some impostor of a beggar, bearing the 
good fruit of charity and kindness. Shall I tell you a 
historical incident of this fallacy?” 

‘^Yes.” 

Chas. Rollin, the celebrated historian, expressed his 
entire belief in the Convulsionist miracles in France, 
about 1730, and wrote grave narratives concerning them. 
A certain Deacon Paris had imbibed the notion from 
Jansenist teachers that the great interest of man is to 
propitiate an almost implacable duty by self-inflicted 
torture. Paris wore hair shirts, tortured himself by cold 


THREE LOVERS. 


75 


and hunger, and, having exhausted all the usual modes of 
self-sacrifice, hit upon the new one of denying himself 
the consolation of religion itself. He gradually committed 
suicide, and when, finally, he expired, he was buried in a 
place which was looked upon, thereafter, as holy ground. 
A catalogue of the miracles wrought at his tomb was 
published by a respectable priest, in three large volumes. 
Each miracle was supported by sworn testimony, taken 
before notaries, and certified in proper form. This testi- 
mony, upon many of the cases, is of such a character, 
and so abundant that it would command a verdict. As 
the celebrity of the tomb increased, the concourse of the 
sick, lame, blind, became such as to incommode the 
neighborhood. Women, beside themselves, stood on their 
heads, danced, twisted their bodies in a thousand extrava- 
gant ways, or assumed positions designed to represent 
scenes of the Passion. Some sang, others groaned, barked, 
mewed, hissed, declaimed, prophesied. The dancing, 
conducted by a priest, was the favorite exercise, and many 
of the lame, it is said, found themselves able to join in 
it with great activity. Finally, the kingdom was scanda- 
lized by it, and Louis XV. interfered with an edict ordering 
the cemetery to be closed, and forbade assemblages of 
people in the neighborhood. The morning after this edict 
appeared one of the wits of Paris wrote upon the gate of 
the cemetery, " By order of the King : God is forbid- 
den to perform miracles in this place.^’^ 

Consequently, no more miracles were performed?"' 
laughed Greta. 


76 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


No more ; yet the life of that suicidal saint did en- 
courage temperance and sobriety as opposed to excess ; 
faith in him brought forth good fruit. 

‘‘ That Salem Witchcraft was another delusion/^ said 
she, growing interested. 

“ Believed in/^ he added, '^by those who have been 
regarded as the purest and best of the New World^s settlers, 
who took their religion straight — from the Bible, but 
whose faith in the witchcraft equalled their faith in im- 
mortality, or, being good, they would not have murdered 
innocent fellow-creatures. Thus it is plain that the 
amount of belief in a doctrine and the resultant good 
works, are no proof of the doctrine^s truth. Lawyers rec- 
ognize this as one of the common sense rules of evidence ; 
the verdict of a jury (equivalent to the belief of "Chris- 
tians’) is no evidence of the truth of the verdict, and 
would not be received as such in any court, or by any 
impartial judicial mind.” He paused. A dead quiet 
succeeded. All was so -still throughout the house 
that they believed they could hear a footfall in its remotest 
chambers. 

. "" But you are weary, dear; we will rest.” ~ The subtle 
command in the man’s tones seemed to magnetize 
the girl like that whirring sound uttered by a certain 
looped reptile when it prepares to insert its fangs within 
its victim’s body. The black, lustrous eyes shone 
upon her in the dim room with insidious light, and 
after another whisper the lover’s arm, with its strange, 
creeping fascination, smoothly twined about her 


THREE LOVERS. 


11 


almost swooning form, and his handsome, deadly, look, as 
inebriating as the diamond eyes of the coiled rattlesnake, 
glittered upon hers with a peculiar bewildering spell 
under which Greta numbed and sank. 

Her eyelids fell; they curtained off, for a time, the evil 
flame in the other^s gaze, so that it no longer set her on 
fire. As the drowning rise for the last time, she roused 
herself with a shiver and repelled him once more. 

‘^I^mnot so sure about hell yet, she broke in; ‘^at 
least, I thought what you told Mrs. Gunn about Dives and 
Lazarus was rather weak.” 

Why should God go on sending human beings into 
the world by millions, if what the Chief Christian said 
of J udas is true of most, or even one-half of them, that 
'it were better for them that they had never been born?’ 
he answered. " That Bible tells us that man is the image, 
the reflection of God. Take it at its word. Would any 
earthly father, the image of the heavenly one, after sur- 
rounding his children with 'temptations’ which he is 'all 
powerful ’ to control, punish them for yielding by frying 
them in fire? Can you not realize the horror of such a 
conception? The affections in the man-father are the 
image, we are told, of the affections in the God-father; 
how many affectionate, ordinary human fathers would 
tempt their children (or at least expose them to ' tempta- 
tion ’ against which they were omnipotent to guard), and 
then for yielding, for a minute, torture them eternally? 
The span of human life compared to eternity is an infini- 
tesimal instant; you tell a child not to steal some jelly 


78 


THE MADOXNA OF PASS CHRISTIAET. 


and then place it within its reach; just a moment it falls 
a victim to its natural desires — would you then throw the 
child in the fire? Such, the Christians say, is God.” 

^^But while there may be some mistake in the modern 
idea of hell, while the little child need not be punished so 
horribly, may not a distinction well be made as to rewards? 
Reward the child who, Spartan-like, withstands luxury; 
and simply forbear to reward the disobedient thief? It 
seems to me that my instinct is stronger than your argu- 
ment,” urged Greta. 

^"And a girFs spontaneous disposition is to experience 
pleasure in taking of the Tree of Knowledge. Instinct, 
our unerring guide, beckons us to experiment in the 
delights of love,” and again the serpent coiled about her, 
and again the magic of the fatal will-power from the 
bright eyes swayed her. 

Drunken with long accumulated sophistry, with the 
spell that charms the doomed bird spinning its invisible 
net around her, Greta ^s muscles relaxed, and she leaned 
back against the long sofa, panting, as if under a con- 
straint which she could no longer throw off. Enchanted, 
dreamy, under the stupefaction of that attractive gaze, 
whose counterpart in the crawling reptile no bird could 
see without fluttering to its ruin, with its malign flame 
dazzling her sensory nerves and her brain, she sighed and 
no longer resisted, while the smooth black arms glided 
around her, and- then gently, steadily, and insidiously 
drew her downward. Easy was the descent — as easy as to 


THREE LOVERS. 


79 


the gate over which was written, Leave hope behind, all 
ye who enter here,” and Greta, passive, seeing no logical 
reason for denial, and loving him, was about to yield to his 
wishes. It was midnight. All the house seemed sleeping. 
Suddenly, not far away, the floor creaked, after the 
fashion of ancient half-ruined houses where rats hide. 
Fancying that she heard a foot-fall descending the stair- 
way, Greta sprang up, shuddering. 

Simon, not here, not now,” and then she put her 
hands up to her face. ^^You may be wrong,” she went 
on, looking at him, ‘Miow can I, a young, untutored girl, 
cope with the arguments of an able lawyer like you? I 
agree with you, perfectly, in thinking that if there is no 
hereafter, if the Bible is all a fable (and I have come to 
think that it is) that one is foolish if they don’t exact just 
as much pleasure from this life as possible. ‘ Eat, drink, 
and be merry, for to-morrow we die,’ is the only possible 
maxim for any one of sense. As society would condemn 
what we think of doing, we want more pleasure by evad- 
ing society’s densure by concealment and secrecy; but 
within that limit I see no objection, I must say, if there is 
no hereafter, to do what the temptations of Nature suggests. 
Our life here must be measured only by what is around 
us,” and here Greta burst into a flood of tears. 

^^My dear child,” said Meeks, putting his arm around 
her, and taking a hand in his, I know it is a sad outlook, 
but it is simply one of the bitter truths that come up every 
day. There’s no use bandaging our eyes against them. 
Age and infancy are very alike. Sleep and unconsciousness 


80 


THE MADON’XA of PASS CHRISTIAK. 


mark both. As we have no identity before infancy, have 
we any after age? ‘‘Our lives issued from the great 
ocean of space, as vapor rises from the Atlantic to form 
each separate raindrop, and when the raindrops fall back, 
'like our lives, then individuality is gone forever. The 
planets will fall into the sun from which they came, some 
day, and in place of these fields and their song-birds now 
will one day reign the silence of eternal death.” 

“ What an awful picture,^^ she exclaimed, “but tell me 
the truth.” 

“ Untold ages ago there was a universe of vapor. It 
concentrated into worlds, and upon these as theatrical 
stages we enact our little drama. But when the play is 
over, the same Titan forces will extinguish life and love, 
the curtain will be rung down, the worlds explode, and all 
will be utter darkness.” 

“Yet my soul longs for life,” she said, “and has a 
horror at the thought of extinction ; is there no sign in 
that?” 

“ If what we desire is given us, I would not have been 
disappointed just now,” said Meeks, with a laugh like the 
bark of a fox; “ if the longing for wealth or immortality 
gets it, then the longing Blaine, Harrison, Sherman and 
Cleveland would all be presidents together.” 

“ One more question,” said Greta, “and then I give 
up. When my body sleeps, my spirit often wakes and 
travels in dreams into many far countries. Does not that 


three lovers. 


81 


tell me that when my body sleeps the sleep of death, my 
spirit will wake and travel far away.’' 

No,” he answered. 

^'Perhaps,” said she, death is as necessary to the 
constitution as sleep. Perhaps we shall rise refreshed in 
the morning.” 

Greta,” he replied, “do not try to deceive yourself. 
When you sleep, although part of your senses are over- 
powered by weariness; while hearing, sight and smell are 
dead to the outer world, — your brain is alive. Unre- 
strained by the sense perceptions, but still active, it 
travels, as you say, far away — in imagination. Sight and 
hearing are not there to guide the judgment. But did you 
ever take ether?” 

“Yes, once.” 

“Do you remember how you sank — sank — away from 
the world; how all became dark, and nothingness; how 
your brain, deadened by the drug, told you nothing more, 
and you lay there for the while, dead9 During that awful 
interval you knew nothing. There was no traveling of the 
soul there; you were utterly unconscious until your body 
was re-vivified. Suppose now, that such restoration had 
been forever postponed; would you not have been forever 
unconscious? And is not that eternal death? What, 
pray, is left when your consciousness is forever dead?” 

Greta arose, and again gave her teacher her hand. 

“Simon,” she said, “thauks for your revelation of 
the truth, however disagreeable it is. When steam leaves 
the warm, throbbing steam-engine, the latter, as you say. 


8*3 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

grows cold and dies; and the steam, its animating spirit, 
does not form a ghostly engine. If we are only a high 
order of chemical compounds, perhaps, later, among the 
pine forests of Pass Christian, we may try our affinity.^’ 

^^Good night, said Meeks, ^^good night, my darling; 
I am going to hasten now to the bedside of a sick friend.^' 

They turned out the remaining lights, Meeks went out, 
and Greta flew up stairs to her room. In the empty parlor 
the curtains drooped heavily, out of their old shapes and 
folds, as if they would form a pall for the dying world. The 
aged furniture, which had heard Meeks, shrunk, like 
frightened beings; the mirrors, which had beheld the flight 
of many years and still remained so bright, now clouded 
their faces, and the doors swung back and forth, per- 
plexed ; rats began to dance merrily, boards squeaked and 
shook, and the old mansion gaped blackly in the long 
lamp-lit street, as if its part in the extinction of the world 
was ready to begin. 

Creak ! Creak ! Was that a ghost walking in the grand 
dancing salon, Avhich the lovers had assumed to be empty 
and bare ? It came ponderously, rolling its amorphous 
form, puffing, with a plunge precipitous and headlong, 
into the cosy back parlor, now deserted by the Apostle of 
the Materialist school and his disciple. When there, it 
stopped, felt of the sofa, shook its head, and growled : 

Well, sah, by gun ! Pll be switched if thet ainT the 
mos’ curus way of sejuicin' a pretty girl thet this descender 
of ole Guv^nor Kemper ever did see in all Mississippi, an 
thetas saying a heap ! But thet law'er^" (with an indig- 


THREE LOVERS. 


83 


nant sniff ) ain’u a-goin^ to sejuice thet sweet darling 
as long as I kin be her guardeen angel! He^ll have to 
sejuice me first, an^ by gosh, if he tried thet, he'd find it 
warm ! " And then the indignant angel lightly fiuttered 
upstairs. 

Where was Meeks' sick friend, to whose bedside he was 
going ? 

Somewhere among unhallowed solitudes of the Creole 
Quarter across Canal street was a place of mysteries, hidden 
from the uninitiated, like a cave of smugglers. Thither 
Mr. Meeks bent his steps. The outside of this place was 
dark as the entrance to a cavern, but within, there burst 
upon Meeks all the wondrous beauty of another Isle of 
Circe. Overhead hundreds of curious lamps, great, 
luminous aureoles, circles of rosy light, hung down like 
burning stalactites over the cave's truly subterranean com- 
pany. Gamblers, women of doubtful character, and 
others whose character was no longer doubtful, were all 
there. Meeks joined them. Interlacing tree branches 
thinly veiled the voluptuous movements of the devotees of 
Aphrodite, who, like Meeks, had returned to Paganism as 
the only sensible religion of Nature. Colored orbs darted 
red and golden light into strange, dreamy grottoes ; there 
were fountains and flowers, and the hand-maidens of 
Madame Venus ministering to the Bacchanalians. There 
was an orchestra whose music was like the opiate of lotus 
flowers. The studied, baleful sweetness of its weird music 
intoxicated the sense of hearing, and wove, as it were, a 
web of fell harmony around its captured souls. At a 


84 


THE MADOKT^A OP PASS CHRISTIAN. 


drinking-stand, as at the altar of his Olympian goddess, 
sat Meeks, ready to honor her with a libation of cham- 
pagne. A ribald ballet exposed itself on the stage beyond 
the music, and he watched a certain sylph who came alone 
there. Burning eye, flushed cheek, panting bosom, buoy- 
ant form, and feet as winged as those of Mercury — was 
the vision which fluttered its gauzy wings before the kin- 
dled gaze of Mr. Meeks. Lace floated about her like a 
cloud, as she raised one foot in her hand and held it wan- 
tonly above her head, while she danced across the stage 
and back, and then was lost in the swift throng of houris, 
who glanced around her. 

In an exquisite ballet, some see only beautiful dancing 
statues and the grace of rythmical movement. To the 
pure, they say, all things are pure. But Meeks was in 
another category. And when the sylph came out to take 
her place among the ministering nymphs, Meeks called: 

‘‘Fleurette 

And she, who knew him very well, obediently came. 
The night was warm, and the fair, lascivious length of her 
white limbs could be seen through the gossamer trans- 
parency ; as she greeted her lover she sank with abandon 
upon his knee. While elsewhere in the languor, a rich 
voice half sung, half breathed a golden dream to violins 
softly shivering, the same arms which a half-hour before 
had pressed Greta to his breast, now encircled with equal 
ardor the reclining and embracing Cyprian. 

This was the sick friend to whose bedside this member 
of the bar was going. 


CHAPTER VIL 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 

“ I dreamed that the moon looked sadly down, 

And the stars with a troubled ray, 

I went to my sweet-heart’s home — the town 
Lies many a league away.” 

Paul Winthrop Warren, from Commonwealth avenue, 
Boston, bearing in his veins the blood of generations of 
gentlemen and gentlewomen, and bearing himself with 
Mayflower pride and Puritan modesty, reached Mobile, 
Alabama, one February morning, on his way from the 
North to Louisiana. The blood of the Puritans stirred 
with passing vexation, when, at two hours after midnight, 
the sleeping-car porter jerked aside the curtains of the 
berth where the pilgrim lay, and finished off his pleasant 
dream, with : 

Boss ! Dis yer calPs broke down. Axle^s given way. 
Have to git up en dress yahse’f en change cahs ! ” 

Then, heedless of the misery of his victim, this more 
cruel than Spanish Inquisitor, went on and tortured the 
next sleeping unfortunate. 

But his argument was incontrovertible. Cars can not 
travel without axles, as the scientific Bostonian could have 
demonstrated satisfactorily to himself through the rules of 

physics and applied mathematics ; so he ^'dressed himself,^' 

85 


86 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


in accordance with the negroes directions, and then 
“changed cars/^ 

It was refreshing to escape from the close, suffocating 
air of the broken car, into that of the cool morning outside. 
But with the inconsistency of the human race, Warren im- 
mediately regretted that no other mephitic sleeping-coach 
was ready to receive him ; such crowds were on their way 
to the approaching Mardi Gras, that all other berths were 
taken, and his further Journey must be upon one-half of a 
seat in a day-coach, with a washer-woman, who was neither 
young nor pretty. 

After the train started on, he reflected. When it 
might reach New Orleans, he would be very tired, and 
perhaps half-sick, with his long Journey. With the dense 
throngs pouring into that city, he might And it hard to 
get a place to sleep and rest comfortably. At length he 
came to the conclusion to stop off at a little country town, 
which he had heard was pleasant, and there rest for a day 
or two. So it happened that when the lengthened, heavy, 
crowded train puffed through the scented pine woods near 
Long Beach, as though breathing their sweet odors, War- 
ren gathered himself together, and at flve o’clock that 

morning, when the brakemen called out “ Pass 

Christian ! ” he passed from the train and its crowds into 
the quiet country, and was driven to the Mexican Gulf 
Hotel. 

It was a bright Sunday morning. Restless with the 
changes and disturbances of the night, the newly arrived 
guest lay in his bed chamber, fatigued, but too nervous to 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 


87 


sleep. He could see through the half-opened windows 
certain green and pleasant gardens ; the calm, blue, 
sparkling gulf was dotted in the distance with gay, white 
sails, and dimpled with the plash of oars. The clear blue 
sky looked down upon him, and the summer-like air stole 
gently in, filling the room with a faint, delicate perfume. 
He rang the bell for hot coffee and newspapers. This is 
very like my Brazil voyage,^^said he to himself ; 'Hhe heat 
of the tropics turned us out of our state rooms to early 
morning coffee there; here the heated car axle does it. But 
I shall be revenged. Some down-trodden black would have 
liked a morning^s doze, and now he shall have to suffer.^^ 

There was a knock at the door. 

Come in,” said Warren. 

There entered a white frock, a shape of animated 
ebony, a tray of aromatic coffee, steaming hot rolls, sweet 
pats of golden butter, and the New Orleans papers. The 
tray was placed on a little table at the side of his bed, so 
that the weary traveler could eat after the reclining Roman 
fashion. Closed blinds were opened wide until daylight 
shown full upon the said white-frocked, ebony figure. 
Something oddly familiar in that face then arrested War- 
ren's attention. Where ha*d he seen those features before? 
Where? They made no pretension to either scholarship 
or elegance, and were as rough as riding over a corduroy 
road in an old stage-coach ; the nose was large and Roman, 
the ears were long and pointed and movable, the forehead 
was slightly bald, and the mouth was adorned with mous- 
tache and imperial goatee, and all looked us if he “had 


88 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


been to a fair dowager who was up in all things.'’' There 
was a strange dignity in his movements, as if, for example, 
he had dined and had been otherwise intimate with Queen 
Victorians cook. Suddenly a vision rose up before War- 
ren, of Delmonicons, the Patriarch Balls, and the famous 

leader of them all, Mr. Was it possible that in a 

moment of levity or lunacy he had rubbed burnt cork 
over his distinguished face, and, just for a joke — 

What is your namepn’abruptly asked Warren. 

“Ward McAllister !” 

“Mr. McAllister, of New York, why, is it possible?” 

“No suh. Ward McAllister, fum Goose Creek, Jaw- 

jaw.” 

“McAllister, from Goose Creek, Georgia?” 

“ Yasser. Dat my home suh. I bin brung up right 
dar, suh — right dar Alongside er my master. Ward Me Allis- 
ter, who guv me him name, suh. Solomon in all his glory 
wuz not graded like dat ar lily er de field, suh ! he toils 
not, an^ he dunno how to spin. I admiar dat man, suh, 
an’ I se his graven image ! I’se a thorouglibred, an^ suh, 
I’se no jackass ! ” 

For a moment Warren remained dumb-founded. His 
first thought was to express h^s regrets that he had con- 
tributed in any degree, however unwittingly, “to making 
the profession of a gentleman fall so low,” but he con- 
sidered, “that the Chancellor Livingstone once said, ^a 
gentleman can do anything; he can even clean his own 
boots, and perhaps do that well,'’” 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 


89 


Were you always thus^ he asked, after a moment’s 
silence. 

“ I growed up, suh, wid de poick Milton under my arm. 
Disgusted wid bookkeeping, I got a job in a lawyer’s 
office, in Savannah, an’ exorcised my memory wid Black- 
store in de mornin’ an’ ’dulged my 'magination of an 
arternoon breathin’ soft wuds to de lubly Southern maid- 
ens in the piney groves wich surroun’ dat charmin’ city — 
a-pourin’out my soul in poickry’, lookin’ into de depths of 
lubly eyes, an’ ’spressin’ my devotion in low and tender 
raps — raps — ” 

^‘Rhapsody?” suggested Warren. 

“Yasser,” acknowledged Mr. McAllister. “An’ de 
young women would laugh immoderickly. ’Scuse me suh, 
— de modern mannah ob shakin’ ban’s I do not like. But 
yet it is ’dopted. But, suh, I has nebber seen yah befo’; 
I knows yah is a distinguished man. Pray, who is yah?” 

Laughingly Warren replied, “I am Paul Winthrop 
Warren, of Boston.” 

“Well suh,” said McAllister, “my instinct ain't bin 
an’ done failed me dis yer time. I hez beam an’ read er 
Paul an’ er Winthrop an’er Warren. Now I sees yah genius 
en yah face. Beauty in lubly woman, genius in man, 
happily I nebber fail to discumber.” 

Warren was much impressed. 

“But can yah tell me, suh,” continued Ward McAl- 
lister, wich is de stronger passion, lub er umbition ?” 

“ The strongest of men,” said Warren, staring at his 
questioner, “Napoleon, Frederick, Hannibal, Caesar, have 


90 


THE MADONXA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


been ruled by their ambition ; Octavius conquered Antony, 
who loved Cleopatra and fell.” Curiosity impelled Warren 
to humor the conversation, for it seemed to him that he 
had met one of the strangest beings that had ever been 
created by God. 

Well, suh,” said McAllister, ^^ef yo^ motto be Hercu- 
lice de Immensible, I resume fo’ mine that of his ^ponent, 
Venus de fictitorious. Wid my sling an’ arrow I lies entered 
de oiiequal combat ob life, an’ wid my razor I hopes to 
slug de ole Goliath yet. I lies let Blackstone an’ umbition 
go, an’ through life an’ now 1 swars by my goddess 
Venus!” 

Warren helped himself to the coffee in silence. 

“ Yah lub de flesh-pots ob Egypt,” observed Mr. 
McAllister, as he watched the hungry guest. 

What ?” said Warren, glancing up. 

'‘All de ’stiriguished men er Europe, an’ my proter- 
kite, de Queen’s cook, says dat ter git tu de heart yah 
fust must crawl through de stomick ; an’ yah ’mind me 
how I lister ’gratiate myself wid de law-makers ob our 
country, an’ wid sassiety as I has found it.” 

"And how was that?” asked Warren, as he busily 
consumed a roll. 

" I uster cook in Washin’ton. My frens, de Attorney 
General an’ de Seckerter ob de State, uster ’sclaim when 
I uster cook fo’ dem : ' My dear boy, yer aunts, de Tel- 
fairs, could give de brokefasts, but yo’, yo’ can get up de 
dinners. My ole marster wuz belated to de Telfairs.’” 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 


91 


Why,” asked Warren, “ did you give up your place in 
Washington as cook to become a waiter here ?” 

Venus, suh, Venus !” solemnly responded Mr. McAl- 
lister. Riding on de avenue on a lubly summer’s day, I 
met a beautiful woman, in gawjus hooray, lookin’ so fas- 
tinatin’ dat if she wuz ter ask me ter ’tempt de onpossible 
I would a doned it, suh. Well, suh, she captivated me 
wid her lubly long flowin’ tresses, cum down hyar, an’ I 
cum arter” — here Mr. McAllister suddenly stopped, and 
pointed out the opened window. ^^See dat beauty ?” he 
exclaimed. By jove, a mos’ delicious creature !” 

Warren turned and saw a quadroon flitting past. He 
was a man who was not interested in quadroons, and so 
changed the subject by asking : 

Are there many guests here now ?” 

Not many, suh, but wat dey is is all high-toned 
thoroughbreds. No jackass stock hyar, suh. Yo’ can tell 
um in de dark. We has fossils, nobs and swells.” 

Tell them in the dark !” exclaimed Warren. ‘‘Are 
they phosphorescent, like fish in certain stages ?” 

“ No, suh, dey is not zactly fish. A nob am like a 
poick ; he am born, not made ; but a swell, suh, am made 
an’ not born. It am well to be in wid de nobs who am 
born to dar situ wishun, but sassiety, suh, ez I has found it, 
is carried on by de swells. A fossil is um man whom it 
am better to cross de street to ’void meetin’ him. Den 
dar is one real English gent, an’ dat, yo’ know, suh, is de 
fust gent in de worT.” 

That the typical Englishman is the leading “gent ” in 


92 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the world, Warren was not disposed to deny. He was, 
however, growing tired of Ward McAllister, and so he said: 

I suppose you discuss society only as you have found 
it— 

^^An sech entertenements ez I has done bin part an^ 
parcel ob, suh,"' said Mr. McAllister, proudly and paren- 
thetically. 

^^Your pride is high,^^ continued Warren. Don^t 
let me detain you further.” 

Yasser, but my pride am in my legs, whar it should 
be, not in my head.” 

Then Mr. McAllister wheeled around, and his legs 
stumbled over a chair and seemed to tangle themselves in 
its rungs. Observing that at times his legs were a lit- 
tle groggy, but dat dey wuz a good pair,” he progressed in a 
stately manner to the door. As he opened it, he turned 
and bowed to Warren with so stony an English stare that it 
seemed that Bostonians were game rarely found among the 
woods of Pass Christian. The door swung and interrupted 
his survey by striking audibly against the distinguished 
head, as though it would determine its condition by the 
clearness of its ring. 

That caps the climax,” said Warren to himself; ^^will 
he ever get out alive ? ” 

The dull cracked sound of Mr. McAllisteEs head seemed 
to clarify its internal atmosphere, and the curtain dropped, 
for the time, on the vision of Ward McAllister. 

I wonder,” said Warren, as the door closed, whether 
I am the victim of an insane delusion, or whether New 


A VISION OP THE MADOOTA. 


93 


York^s McAllister, dear boy, is down here masquerading 
in a Mardi Gras frolic, or whether in moments of groggy 
devotion to some dusky Southern maiden in his erring 
youth, he expressed his poetical soul too freely, with this 
lurid result/^ 

Then he helped himself again to the coffee. Pausing 
occasionally to glance with tranquil content at the beauti- 
ful landscape, and sometimes to gaze indolently at the 
sky, he ate, drank, and read the news luxuriously. 

The hours glided on, carrying with them some of the 
weariness of the traveler, and in course of time he was 
still further invigorated by a later breakfast in the din- 
ing-hall below. 

^^What next ?” he asked himself, as he stood on the 
hotel verandah after breakfast. Let me see. Church 
begins at eleven. It is now nine. I think I shall go to 
Sunday-school meanwhile in the Druid^s Temple. 

Bent upon a morning^s exploration he strolled across the 
railroad, away from the straggling town into the country. 
Meadows, with their long rich grass and wild flowers 
springing, — scarlet pomegranates, white violets, yellow 
cowslips, pink azaleas, and Cherokee roses seemed as beau- 
tiful as the green pastures of those who shall not want. 
Now and then he paused a moment in the shade of some 
lofty elm by the road-side, listening to the mocking bird, 
as she trilled her merry song, and looking upward at the 
light clouds which floated across the blue depth of the sky. 
Gradually, as he walked on, pines and oaks and magnolias 
and cypress began to encompass him, until, at length, he 


94 


THE MADOHNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


found himself in the midst of the wood. Through the 
green vistas of foliage red birds were flitting; squirrels 
frisked along brown logs, and rabbits darted across the 
covert forest pathways. Tiny flsh in myriads were leaping 
and playing in a tiny stream which the merry sunlight 
chased, — creeping in aslant through leaves and boughs to 
where it crept and hid far down in the hollows, deepening 
into silver pools, where nodding branches seemed to bathe 
and sport. Sweet fragrance of summer air — of a summer 
everlasting — came from flelds of clover. 

Science would deem this perfume of wet leaves and 
moss,” thought Warren, ‘"the beauty of this budding for- 
est and these ever-changing shadows, quite unnecessary to 
existence. It would seem that the Creator gives pleasure 
gratuitously, in wordless testimony of his love, to win 
affection. He who can not see the hand of his Heavenly 
Father in these opening wayside flowers, nor hear him in 
this whispering forest, might not And him in the sunset of 
Eden or beneath the moonlight of Gethsemane. The aver- 
age parent tries to make his children happy and is pained 
to see them throw away his gifts. The Father of all 
empowers his children to enjoy the beautiful and envelops 
them with it. His image, an earthly father, illustrates 
that it grieves the Father above when bigots reject His 
kindness. Here comes a woman, for example, who hides 
her beauty under a black veil in the cell of a convent, and 
hopes God will reward her for refusing to increase and 
multiply.” 

A pale nun went by him with a missal in her hand. 


A VISIOJT OF THE MADOHHA. 


95 


Her eyes were sunken in sickly blue rings, and she looked 
thin and worn. 

it is right for one woman to defeat one of her cre- 
ator’s designs in forming her by entering a convent, why 
not for every other woman? And if all the women in the 
world went into convents and kept their vows of ^ chas- 
tity/ the world would quickly end. Some would serve the 
Creator by blasting creation. If He who gave us* the abil- 
ity to laugh can do so Himself, He may see a ludicrous 
side to some creeds.” 

When Warren was a child, like Paul, he had thought 
as a child. He had learned catechisms which had never 
worried St. Paul; had mechanically swallowed dogmatic 
sermons and believed anything that his parents did, just 
as children ages ago believed the world was flat. He had 
asked no questions — the catechism did all that — and had 
bowed to authority. But later, as a Harvard student, he 
had mined deeply into the hidden galleries of Science. 
He did not credit a geometry theorem merely because his 
teacher asserted its truth; why should he believe in the 
hereafter without proof ? 

Calm, unprejudiced philosophy had told him that 
modern science has reluctantly disproved the theory that 
the individual continues after death, when its house of 
flesh decays and dissolves; when the material which sup- 
ports one’s consciousness and whose injuries may destroy 
one’s consciousness, when the body through which one 
became a person, — is destroyed, the person is, of course, 
entirely destroyed with it and must cease to exist. Physi- 


96 


THE MADOHHA of PASS CHRISTIAK. 


ology also advised him against individual immortality. 

The soul does not enter the foetus like the evil spirit into 
persons possessed, but is produced by the brain’s develop- 
ment, just as muscular activity comes from muscular 
development.” 

Could this be refuted?” thought Warren. His mate- 
rial body was perishable; his mental organization was 
palpably connected therewith. What lived, pray, after 
their death? Emotion, volition, thought itself, were func- 
tions of the brain. When the brain was impaired, they 
were impaired; when the material fabric was wholly dis- 
solved, muscular and mental activity alike perished. With 
the positive statements to this effect from many depart- 
ments of modern science, Warren was sadly familiar. The 
fatal verdict was uttered by the juries of sc’ence with 
hardly a syllable of dissent. After carefully reviewing 
the position of recent learning, he wrote to a clerical con- 
fidant: 

‘^So reasons science, and decides apparently against 
eternal life. Our hearts sink within us, when our minds 
listen to her logic. Our hopes, weighed in one scale of 
the balance, fiy up against her transcendent evidence in the 
other. Vain and unsubstantial seem all our arguments, 
our future expectations but foolish dreams.” 

When the ostrich is pursued, it closes its eyes and 
buries its head in the sand, thinking to shut out all danger 
when it shuts out the sight and knowledge of danger. 
Warren might have buried his mind in the dogma of some 
church, and refuse to accept evidence in questions of 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 


97 


religion, closing his ears to the stern language of knowl- 
edge and to the unbiased testimony of Nature. To escape 
doubt he must cease to think. Was that the wish of the 
Ruler of the Universe? Pleas for business ventures and 
speculations were tried by one^s reason. If reason may be 
used in trivial matters, ‘^why not also,” thought Warren, 
in things so important as the future beyond our few, 
petty, terrestrial years.” 

So the student worked out his salvation, to find at last 
that there was no more conflict between ** science ” and reli- 
gion than between geometry and aritlimetic. When the 
world was in its infancy, and the children of men were 
ignorant barbarians, simple Revelation had to suffice, like 
the unproved statement of an earthly father to his ignorant 
child. But as the world grew to manhood, the Christian 
might learn how to repel the attacks, not of Science but of 
its incompletely learned professors. Warren^s belief in a 
Father in Heaven and His many mansions, was now as liv- 
ing as his faith in the precession of the equinoxes. His 
affection for the One whom the Bible taught him to 
address as Our Father,” was the same as for his earthly 
parent. He had overcome, and for him the crown of 
immortality was waiting; to him it was given to have of 
the tree of life which is in the midst of the Paradise of 
God, 

Into the midst of his reverie came the ringing of a 
distant church bell. The clear sounds penetrated the 
leafy halls of the wood, and among the solitary arches of 
foliage an invisible chime of bells began to echo sweet 


98 


THE MADOHNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


answering peals. The summons from over the tree tops 
out of the upper air re-called him toward the village, and 
led him along woody by-paths, over fair pastures, by 
the mossy borders of a deep pool of dark still water, and 
between hedge -rows which lined a rustic lane, bringing 
him out finally upon the main street of Pass Christian. 
Presently he stood before a little, white frame building, 
shaded by evergreen oaks. Its whitish gray steeple, 
raised aloft a brazen cross and told liim that it was 
a Roman Catholic clinr(3h, whose door opened automat- 
ically before him as if asking him to enter. War- 
ren was a Protestant, but he was averse to Romanism 
only as to its changes since the time of St. Peter. The 
Creator of language, he thought, could understand Eng- 
lish quite as well as Latin, and might prefer His children 
to address Him in their own tongue, given them by Him. 
For a moment Warren paused and looked vainly up and 
down the street for a church in which he was more at 
home, or whose tenets he could more fully accept. As he 
stood hesitating, the black-robed French Cure came from 
his little ’ parsonage across the street and greeted him 
warmly, although the good Cure's parish was not too large 
for him to know that the stranger was not of his fold. 

Perhaps the worthy fellow has put some of his soul 
into a sermon he wants a heretic to hear," thought War- 
ren; shall I hurt his feelings and give him the cold 
shoulder on account of supposed mistakes in his creed?" 

He entered the poor little edifice and demurely seated 
himself in a remote corner on the right. On the left, in 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 


99 


the rear of the church, were a few coarse pews, set apart 
from the rest, where negroes huddled together. All the 
seats were bare and plain. The Calvary paintings on the 
wall were evidently bought by purses which were slender. 
Even the dimly religious light which stained glass makes, 
the growing need for which is so felt in modern churches, 
—even this was partly wanting. Poverty and resulting 
economy had deterred this congregation from putting the 
high-priced panes of colored religion elsewhere than in the 
upper parts of the windows; leaving the lower portions 
open to the unstained sunlight, and to the pure air of the 
outer world and to the voice of scientific Nature. 

Lamps faintly twinkled in front of the chancel around 
a white altar where angels kneeled. Above tliem the dark 
visages of monks glowered from picture frames and scowled 
upon the simple rural worshipers below; saints they were, 
none were good but they, and they were especially thank- 
ful that they were not as other men. 

Sister Madeline and her choir of little girls from the 
convent of “Our Lady of Mercy were up in the organ 
loft. Pretty soon their fresh young voices, clear as the 
warbling of forest birds, began to sing. The girl choris- 
ters were accompanied, alas! by a little, wheezy, old organ 
that seemed to have caught a very bad cold from the damp 
Gulf winds, and was now in the throes of influenza. 

What a tender, little credulous child's song it was! 

“1. Sweet lady of the Sacred Heart, 

Thy fearless Virgin charms 
Wooed Jesus from his heavenly throne 
To rest within thy arms.” 


100 THE MAUON^JTA OP PASS CHKtSTIAI5r. 

* The Sunday previous saw Warren at church in Boston, 
under the superb arches of that temple called the ‘‘New 
Old South/^ He remembered the magic of its wondrous 
organ, how its tones, like an old Cremona among violins, 
dreamily swept through the nave and aisles, awaking 
reverberations deep down in the hearer^s heart. He 
thought of its unsurpassed quartette choir of mercenaries, 
hired to sing praises to God for the love of money. Ricli 
and glorious were the consequent harmonies, but they did 
not compare with these poor little unpaid children, with 
their sweet, wild-flower voices. How touching was their 
childish sincerity — their heartfelt prayer: 

“ 2 . Sweet lady of the Sacred Heart, 

When death with icy hand 
Lays on our frighted hearts his touch, 

O! Mary, near us stand.’- 

“Death with icy hand. Yes. How strange the law 
of memory called the “Association of Ideas! It carried 
Warren from the little Catholic church a long distance 
that morning, far back over the track of time. A while 
ago, to the evening services and prayer-meetings of the 
“New Old South,” there went with him a dear compan- 
ion, “Alice,” who wore a diamond ring. Full of light as 
its diamonds was she then and as full of love. But “death 
with icy hand ” had stepped between them, and now, at this 
moment, when the roses’ perfume and the orange blos- 
soms’ floated in through the open window near him, sweet 
Alice lay under the withered grass and fallen leaves of 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 


101 


Mount Auburn, where the bleak New England winds were 
coldly blowing. 

That Madonna in the corner far away to the left, hith- 
erto unobserved, how like the vanished Alice to a yearning 
heart! But only remotely, — in the longing imagination. 
If it were nearer, doubtless it also would appear cheap and 
expressionless. In Warren^s distant corner, however, any 
possible coarseness is veiled or refined in the incense which 
boys swing vigorously from censers, and which surrounds 
her with a cloud of enchantment. It is a little image of 
Oar Lady of Lourdes, standing on a rocky pedestal. 
Around her figure is a robe of white, with golden stars. A 
rosary and cross are on her arm; her hair is of golden hue, 
and its rich, half-hidden luxuriance peeps from under the 
drapery of white. There is a little shade about the eyes of 
disappointment, or wistful longing, which would make one 
question whether they were not lately filled with tears. 

Woman, why weepest thou?” The features of the quiet 
face are undisturbed, but in their calm depths there is a 
fathomless sorrow. The sweet face was also the saddest that 
Warren had ever seen, — to the eye what some of Chopin^s 
music is to the ear. 

The Lady was earnestly looking upward, with a pained, 
mutely pleading face, as if she were wistfully beseeching 
one whom she supposed to be the gardener. ‘^Tell me 
where thou hast laid him? ” And the children sang on: 
a. “ Sweet lady of the Sacred Heart, 

If thou wilt hover near. 

Death’s deepest shades in thy clear light 
Will quickly disappear.” 


102 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Pleasantly the robin-like chorus of the songsters aloft 
died away. Then the fat cure took up the refrain and 
chanted Latin in a dismal minor key; after which the 
wheezy and consumptive old organ, all alone, began to 
cough out another tune. This was so dreary and so like 
some withered, toothless beldam crooning to herself frag- 
ments of ancient ballads, that Warren, having been awake 
since two in the morning, tired with his long tramp in the 
country, under the narcotic of the dull droning of the 
priest and the warm, drowsy air, felt himself dropping off to 
sleep in the very arms of Holy Mother Church. With a 
heroic effort he raised his drooping eyelids and fixed his nod- 
ding gaze on the Madonna. Then he tried to rouse himself 
still further by exercising his recollection on the new bur- 
lesque of a hymn which came from the organ loft, for the 
Instrument of Praise there was wandering like a lost sheep 
of the House of Israel, and bleating as disconsolately. 

Yes, he knew the melody, the German lied, Die 
Miihle Im Thal,^' — another reminder of the past: 

“ A mill-wheel ceaseless turneth/’sung the organ, 

“ In a cool, green dell I know; 

My love, who once did dwell there, 

Has vanished long ago.” 

The mill, the cool green dell, the love once there, were 
realities with him. They were all out on that mill-dam” 
drive, miles away from Beacon street, through rural Brook- 
line and that queenly Paradise out from Boston, where, 
one memorable June, in the glorious sunset, he had driven 
with her who had vanished, long ago.” 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 


103 


The haunting strain went on: 

“A golden ring I gave her, and promised to be true; 

Death broke the troth we plighted, the ring is broken too. 

I know not what comes o’er me, whene’r I hear the mill. 

Ah! would that my days were ended, and all might then be still!” 

At this point nature conquered the will of the tired 
church-goer, and with his last struggling look fixed on the 
Madonna, she carried him resistiiigly away to the land of 
dreams. 

Metaphysical reader, why is it that in dreams the mind 
is as strong and active as when we are awake — with the 
exception of the judgment, which alone is suspended and 
dormant? The most glaring incongruities of time, the 
most palpable contradictions of place and the grossest 
absurdities of circumstance, are glibly swallowed by us 
dreamers, without the least dissent or demur from the 
totally inefficient judgment. The instant we awake, 
however, the judgment resumes her functions, and shocks 
us with surprise at a credulity that in sleep' could reconcile 
such a tissue of inconsistencies. 

Upon his entrance into Dreamland, Warren, without 
the least surprise, saw the congregation around him fall 
into one another’s arms and begin to waltz; organ and 
choir-girls, by a natural metamorphosis, became a magic 
orchestra; ball-room silks and laces fluttered by in the 
perfumed air, in and out of the aisles and pews — which 
were there and yet not there; while the priest, as the 
incense swung, as a matter of course chanted the calls 


104 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


for a waltz quadrille. Gayest of the dancers was the 
Madonna herself. 

Suddenly upon the fairy scene a fairy curtain fell, 
and, presto change ! the dreamer found himself upon a 
lonely road in Sicily. He was climbing that desolate 
promontory near Palermo, which he had ascended before, 
once when a tourist. Inexplicably, for no perceptible 
reason, he carried a violin. On his way he came to an 
olive tree, which grew over a wayside cross, and there 
stood this very Madonna, all covered with gold and jewels. 
But she had become a living woman, and she cried out to 
him for help from a murderous brigand near. Of course 
the dreamer rescued her, and the two would have been 
married and lived together happily ever after, if by an 
easy transition he had not been transported on the wings 
of light from Sicily to that mill-dam road^^ leading out 
of Boston. 

Of this, a mental picture had often haunted him. It 
was of a summer day, long ago, and now it rose again, 
from the buried past. The air was dry and clear, and far 
away the painted steeples and gilded dome of Boston 
were cut in sharp relief against the light blue heavens. 
The dark Blue Hills of Milton were faintly breathed upon 
the sky, and grew phantom-like in their further outlines, 
more faint and light, until baffling every attempt of the 
eye to grasp them, they vanished like ghosts at morning. 
Before him was the Kiver Charles, with its bright open 
expanse, sprinkled with moving boats and sails. Horses 
swifter than a hurricane were flying with him over a road. 


A VISION OF THE MADONNA. 


105 


past the bright, windy Massachusetts hills and through 
the summer fragrance of birch groves. By him sat a 
veiled companion. At first she was still and rigid as a 
carven figure, her dress was iliat of the Virgin, and from 
her hands hung a rosary. But in a moment the draped 
form drew aside her veil, and turned lovingly toward him, 
looking upon his face with all the memories of the risen 
past in her soft gaze, and with the unforgotten smile of 
Alice. 

How fast they galloped, southward! The spectral 
steeds that whirled them on could have raced with the 
most lightning express which ever ran, given it odds and 
beaten it. Thus it happened that presently the summer 
air grew languid and sultry, and Warren saw, hurrying 
past, the white cotton fields and the waving green sugar- 
cane of the South. Then the sheen of blue water told him 
that they had reached the gulf, and he saw that the forest 
glade where the flying horses stopped was the same where 
he had walked that morning. 

He glanced around, and again toward Alice. But 
when he turned she was no longer there. In her p^ace was 
a countenance even lovelier, also like the Madonna’s, but 
one never before seen. The beauty of this stranger seemed 
to change and grow divine; and, as he gazed, her form 
became heroic and her face grew bright as the sun. 

^'Thy affliction is but for a season,” she tenderly said; 

The Master Sculptor smites and pierces as he shapes thy 
soul into beauty for its life among the glories which ear 
hath not heard nor the heart of man conceived. Some 


106 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


day thou wilt learn why he has trained thee, and review 
thy human life, no longer seeing only glimpses of the 
golden thread of fatherly love, as it winds in and out, but 
its long continuous gleam around the whole.’^ 

As the beautiful vision then faded from his sight, 
Warren, looking steadfastly upon it, saw the face as it had 
been the face of an angel. 

And that was the only sermon which the weary trav- 
eler heard that morning. When his material eyes opened 
upon the material world, he found that he had been 
awakened by the stir and bustle of the congregation 
departing, with the little feet of the child pupils of the 
Convent of Our Lady of Mercy pattering in long pro- 
cession on the hard, uncarpeted board floor. He rose and 
followed after. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


A VIEW OF THE DEVIL. 

Ave Maria! blessed be the hour 
The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft 
Have felt that moment in its fullest power 
Sink o’er the earth so beautiful and soft. 

While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, 

Or the faint dying day hymn stole aloft, 

And not a breath crept through the rosy air. 

And yet the forest leaves seemed stirred with prayer.” 

She fancies herself in love, when, in truth, she is 
only idle ? 

“That's it. You've struck it, old fellow. She thinks 
she's in love with Meeks; wears padlock bracelets to be- 
token how she's barred, and tied by golden chains, and 
all that sort of thing. Renounced the world or all of it 
except Meeks, which isn't saying much, by Gad ! for 
when she renounced the world and took vows of holiness 
to Meeks only, she did not give up the flesh, and the devil, 
and all his works, — not at all." 

The last speaker was the original and only Ned 
Rattler, now stopping at the Mexican Gulf Hotel. He 
had met his old school friend Warren, on that gentle- 
man's return from the quaint little Catholic church. Mr. 
Rattler was distantly related by marriage to Meeks, but 
he was also a friend to Greta, and, being frank and honest, 
was concerned at her engagement. He was impartial, and 

107 


108 


THE MADONXA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


judicial, and his friends called him Judge.” In the 
equity courts of his mind, he had heard and decided the 
case of Meeks vs. Lind, and now from the bench on the 
verandah of the Mexican Gulf Hotel, was rendering a de- 
cree that the defendant must be released, somehow, from 
the snare of the fowler. The two friends were enjoying 
the quiet of an after-supper siesta. A breeze from over 
the Gulf hovering over the verandah had rocked to sleep 
the mythical baby up in the tree-top, but still was swing- 
ing to and fro the long streamers of Spanishmoss, which 
canopied its (taken cradle. After hearing Battler, it sunk 
exhausted, leaving a profound calm ; then the bell of the 
Catholic church rang out the Aiigelus. 

‘‘I can’t stand by” he added, ^^and be an accessory 
after the fact. Nor would old Wash.” On all occasions 
of doubt. Judge Battler cited the Father of his 
Country, for brevity’s sake, as old Wash. By hypothesis, 
George Washington was brought into a number of strange 
and very embarrassing positions.” 

Give me some idea of the character of your esteemed 
relative, ” said Warren, as he looked to where the fast 
sinking sun was shooting its bright golden arrows over a 
distant forest. 

“ He can lie with the facility with which old Wash 
used to smoke a Virginia corn-cob pipe ; he will seduce 
a girl through infernal philosophy, more subtle than the 
serpent who tempted Eve, leaving her then, to surely die ; 
he would prosecute his best friend on false charges 
if he could make by it ; and smother his mother 


A VIEW OF THE DEVIL. 


109 


to get the life insurance if he needed it. He has 
no more remorse than a thug, and the same amount 
of faith, hope and charity. He would rob a poor beggar 
of a client of his last rag, under the forms of law and as 
unruffled as a cow, and commit the very meanest actions 
of which an animal-man is capable. He would cringe to 
a vagrant, attend John Wanamaker’s Sunday-school, and 
make a gift or some small contribution to President Har- 
rison, with equal fluency.” 

Very amiable, truly!” exclaimed Warren. 

Then he is a respectable church member, keeping his 
infldelity a secret from most people, and is thus like a 
deep pit in the road of life, unmarked by red flag or red 
light. His will is overwhelming, and Tis used as it would 
be by any other white- washed sepulcher, Pharisee, Saddu- 
cee, scribe and hypocrite.” 

Odors of pine trees fluttered in and out of the verandah 
arcades, as Rattler paused; the land breeze from a forest 
was rising, and Warren thought how like it was to a balmy 
June evening at the North. 

What would you have me do?” he asked, at length. 

Just this. You are going to the Mardi Gras to-mor- 
row, thence to your plantation up the river, and will 
return to Pass Christian on your way to Florida. Am I 
right?” 

I donT know. I may continue North from the plan- 
tation. Chance and circumstances will govern my tour.” 

Change your mind, old man. This is the place to 
have a jolly time. There is a time to dance, the psalmist 


110 


THE MADONNA OF TASS CIIIilSTIAN. 


says. Better take his advice, and dance with pretty Miss 
Lind when she comes here after Mardi Gras. I will give 
you proper letters of introduction.’’ 

After which I am to pick her up in my arms, as the 
Romans did with the Sabine ladies, and carry her off 
bodily from the wicked Meeks?” 

‘‘ Spiritually, my dear fellow, not bodily. A spiritual 
‘ rape of the Sabine ’ lies open before you, an opportunity 
which you should not neglect. The trouble with Miss Lind, 
in a nut shell, is this; namely, to wit: her mother has 
been confirmed as an invalid, her father immersed in busi- 
ness, and the daughter, who has had the additional ill- 
luck to be an only child, has grown up like a very wild 
flower. She has a devouring temper and a Herculean will 
ihat brooks no parental control. Wisdom, knowledge and 
understanding she has thrown to the four winds of heaven, 
and is going to the other place as fast as Meeks can drag 
her.” 

Thoughtlessly,” suggested Warren, for want of 
thought?” 

You are axiomatically and oracularly right. She 
has no thoughts, except of Meeks, and therefore thinks 
not. She did go to school once, indeed it was there that 
she fell in with my Mephistophelian relative; perhaps it was 
a divine lesson to her never to go again. She has fallen 
into the pit, and you, good Samaritan, must straightway 
pull her out.” 

Is she at a standstill in intellectual progress? ” 

^‘At a dead stop. Study, work, progress, thrown 


A VIEW OF THE DEVIL. 


Ill 


aside, she spends the day reading French novels, which 
Meeks put into her hands for purposes of his own. Satan 
finds mischief for idle hands, you know. She ought 
never to marry such a man, and she ought not to think of 
marrying any one while so young. How can a girl of 
seventeen choose a partnership for life? When more 
mature her tastes and selection might be very different.^’ 
True,” assented Warren. 

Now, if you can turn her mind into a different chan- 
nel, you will antidote the mischief.” 

What shall be the antidote?” 

‘^Tell me why,” said Rattler, the cultivated gentle- 
man enjoys a fine poem so much more than does a boor ? ” 
Because his- wider acquaintance with objects and 
actions enable him to see in the poem much that the 
uncultured can not see. The more realities indicated by 
the artist in his work, the more faculties are appealed to ; 
the greater the number of associated ideas which are sug- 
gested, the more is the reader gratified. But to gain this 
gratification the spectator, listener, or reader must know 
the realities which the artist has indicated ; and to know 
these, is to know so much Science.” 

That is good. I want Miss Lind to admire and love 
the poem of Life. She has asked herself the question, ^ Is 
life worth living?^ and, so far, has answered, 'No, not 
without my dear Meeks.^ Show her that it is. Show her 
that 'the grave is not its goal.’ ” 

"It is very true,” said Warren, musingly, " that those 
who have never undertaken scientific pursuits know not a 


112 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


tithe of the poetry by which they are surrounded. The 
youth who has not collected plants and insects sees not the 
halo of interest which lanes and hedge-rows can assume. 
Whoever has not sought for rare fossils has little idea of 
the poetical associations surrounding the places where 
imbedded treasures are found. The visitor of the sea shore, 
without miscroscope and aquarium, has yet to learn the 
loftier attractions of the sea. Many a girl is indifferent to 
the grandest phenomina, and prefers the Queen of Scots to 
the architecture of the Heavens, and would rather go 
through an intrigue on the pages of a novel than read that 
grand epic written by the finger of God upon the strata of 
the earth. The cultivation of science opens up realms of 
beautiful thought where to the unscientific all is blank. 

Would it not also discipline a young girl's judgment?” 
asked Rattler. 

“ Miss Lind may correctly judge events and conse- 
quences around her, only when she knows howsurrounding 
phenomena depend on each other. Drawing conclusions 
from data, verifying those conclusions by observations 
and experiment, gradually teaches how to judge accurately. 
Womenkind, in general, seem to me willing to leave the 
judgment almost entirely uneducated, and their decisions 
are consequently at the mercy of ignorance or accident ; or, 
above all, of their passions.” 

The dark and hitherto trackless plain of the Gulf 
before them began now to have a shining pathway. The 
moon was rising and its bright round face looked through 
the oak branches which overshadowed the verandahs and 


A VIEW OF THE DEVIL. 


113 


another bright round face rose up from its dwelling-place 
in the water to stealthily follow the moon above. War- 
ren thought of lunar observations, telescopes, and college 
life. 

One night at Harvard, said he, ^^certain students 
thought that the moon was colored green. The prevailing 
red which tinted the sky could effect that illusion I knew ; 
yet, so little red was near the planet, that I questioned 
whether its green was not caused by some aerial medium. 
I held up white cards in a suitable position and compared 
them with the satellite. This experiment showed the 
effect to be only one of contrast. Perplexed by the red 
hues, my memory could not recall the impression pre- 
viously made on the eye by the white of the moon.^^ 

Which parable teaches,” observed Battler, '"that Miss 
Lind should know how to educate her judgment until slie 
can tell whether Meeks is green, or of a much blacker 
. color ; and not put her trust in her uneducated senses.” 

"The senses always perform their duty,” said Warren, 
and truly harmonise with Nature. Their indications are 
correct. It is the judgment which mistakes. The con- 
clusion is not justified by the senses. Sometimes we fail 
because one true impression is overpowered and put out of 
sight by another. When the sun is risen the morning 
star disappears, though still above the horizon and shin- 
ing as brightly as ever; thus stronger phenomena obscure 
weaker, even when both are of the same kind, till the 
uninstructed are apt to pass the weaker unobserved, and 
even deny their existence.” 


114 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


‘‘You will understand the relation of the parties better 
if I tell you/^ said Rattler, “that Miss Lind is like a 
superstitious spiritualist; her delusion is like clairvoyance 
or table-rapping, while Meeks is the medium, and a very 
good medium between her and the devil he is 

“You suggest another interesting fallacy of the 
uneducated mind," said Warren. “If one can lift a table 
by spirit force, why should he not proceed to verify his 
feat and bring it into relation with the law of Newton? 
Why not rest the end of a lever on his table and find how 
much he can raise by the draught of his finger upwards? 
Furnished with a nicely constructed locomotive, several 
table movers might draw a train by the attraction of their 
fingers. Why did not clairvoyants tell us that photography 
was possible; or, when that became known, why did they 
not favor us with instruction for its improvement? They 
all profess to deal with agencies far more exalted in char- 
acter than an electric current or a ray of light; they also 
deal with mechanical forces; they employ both the bodily 
organs and the mental, they profess to lift a table, turn a 
hat, see into a box, or into the next room or the future; 
why should they not move a balance and so give us the 
element of a new mechanical power? take cognizance of 
the contents of a chemical jar and tell us how they will act 
on those of a neighboring jar? Either see or feel into a 
crystal and inform us of what it is composed? Why have 
they not added one planet to the number daily increasing 
under the observant eye of the astronomer? A prize far 
less than these would gain these advertisers and seekers 


A VIEW OF THE DEVIL. 


115 


after notoriety the attention of the whole scientific and 
commercial world. If they ever make the most delicate 
balance incline by attraction, table movers will not fail to 
gain universal respect and most honorable reward. 

“Please interest Miss Lind in such subjects;^' said Rat- 
tler. “ As an astronomer you know whether the glorious 
orb of night that beams so softly upon us with its efful- 
gent rays is composed of green cheese; as a Botanist you 
can teach her what male mushrooms are poisonous; as a 
Physiologist subtly show how the brain of a pretty girl can 
be turned; as one of the Wise Men of the East — way 
‘ down east ^ — as a Boston professor of all the blue ologies, 
interest Greta Lind in Science. Fill her with the desire 
of knowledge and of going to some school to get under- 
standing. Seriously, you will do her a noble kindness, 
which not many others could, and lead her on her way 
with a light that will make her bless you hereafter.^’ 

Silent and abstracted, Warren looked, not upon the 
speaker, but miles and miles away out upon the ocean, as 
though the miles were years, and the ocean that of time. 
Its waters were as the restless fancies which had stirred 
him lately, and in the evening hush they lulled to rest like 
broken waves. Somewhere in its vistas he seemed to see 
a gentle figure, the material of whose earthly image was 
now all dust, and heard again her tender voice. The 
silent golden twilight formed a golden chain between him 
and his dead love and the resurrection of the vision of that 
Sabbath morning. Out among the murmur of the song 
of the sea, faint as a secondary rainbow, came, as it were, 


116 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


a reflection of that dream-love, wliicli, fading almost as it 
appeared, seemed to beckon to yield his assent . 

But just then came another twilight picture, gauzy, 
gossamer black lace, floating near them like a cloud — a 
wornan^s dress. A pair of laughing black eyes looked 
down upon Judge Rattler, and a queenly head bowed. 
Warren raised his face to the face of a being so handsome, 
that it seemed as if Venus herself had come in a flash of 
brightness. The beautiful apparition that stood before 
him indeed possessed a radiance of her own, and her en- 
chanting eyes were full of lustre. 

^^Ah! Mrs. Ribold?^^ exclaimed Rattler, springing to 
his feet and walking with her a little way along the veran- 
dah, conversing in low tones. Then he returned with the 
beauty toward Warren. 

^^This is Mr. Warren, Mrs. Ribold,” he said. It 
gives me pleasure to present him. Mr. Warren is an 
accomplished dancer, equestrian, oarsman, yachtsman, 
whist player, poker sharp, base ball crank, and possesses 
all the virtues. He will ornament this hoteTs society when 
he returns from his New Orleans' dissipations." 

‘^Mr. Warren blushes under the honors with which 
you cover him," replied his old schoolmate. 

As I go to New York next Wednesday," added Rat- 
tler, I hereby consign Mr. Warren to your matronly 
care, to have and to hold, for better or worse. Chap- 
eron him always, he is inclined to be giddy." 

Bright eyes! Sweet glances! All your darts are poisoned 
arrows. Your dazzle enflames and consumes; before your 


A VIEW OF THE DEVIL. 


117 


gleams the past grows dim, as niglit before the sunrise. 
One forgets how brief is the instant for which the sunrise 
lasts and gives his life to possess your sparkle. Mrs. 
Ribold had learned their power well, and hers looked into 
Warren^s with hidden meaning. Did she know that mem- 
ory is not as strong as anticipation, nor past love so power- 
ful as future desire? But Warren had seen crown jewels 
gleaming in the palaces of Europe, and he recalled how sons 
and brothers have warred and killed and how mothers and 
sisters have wept because of their regal beauty. They 
glitter there still, bright as the tear-drops shed for them; 
but he thought then of other lustrous gems, more brilliant 
and more cruel, which now — where are they? Where 
now are the sapphires that shone under the brow of Helen? 
Where now are the diamonds which glowed' in the sockets 
of Cleopatra? Not among the walls of the New Jerusa- 
lem. They dulled and perished soon; yet, to get them, 
men exchanged jewels incorruptible, and treasure in 
crown-rooms where no thieves break through and steal. 

There is to be some reading by the hotel guests in 
the parlor, in about fifteen minutes, recitations and so 
forth, said Mrs. Kibold; ‘"will you two come in?” 

Rattler could enter there; Warren was tired and sleepy, 
he said, and feared that he might shock the assembled 
company by nodding; he could not keep awake at the best 
entertainment in this world. Rather than come in only 
to disturb the company by going out when he found him- 
self drowsy, he would sit here on the verandah. A parlor 
window close at hand was open, and through it he could 
hear the reading and retire when overcome by sleep. 


118 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


So they left him; Mrs. Ribold and Mr. Rattler strolled 
along the dusky verandah, until, turning the corner, they 
were out of sight. The gentle evening had reached that 
time when the twilight was the most beautiful. Warren 
seated himself near the window under a spreading honey- 
suckle which clambered over a pillar of the verandah, and 
taking a cigar from his pocket began to smoke. Pausing 
now and then to let the smoke curl slowly off and to watch 
the occasional carriages rumbling by, he sat at ease, in 
the grateful fragrance of the flowers. 

Presently, between the half-closed shutters of the open 
window, came the words of Tennyson, Owen Meredith, 
Ibsen, and Mark Twain; but it was a recitation by the 
voluptuous beauty whose acquaintance he had made that 
when it was over, Warren, 

“ Still stood listening, still stood fix’d to hear.” 

For it seemed to him just a little more bizarre than 
anything he had ever heard. It told of the domestic 
unhappiness of the Devil, and ran thus: 

“His Majesty, Satan, one morning awoke. 

To find that his wife was dead; 

He said to himself, ‘This is really no joke. 

My household requires a head; 

But where shall I find, on this limited earth. 

The woman to fill such a difficult berth? 

“ ‘For she must be witty and rapid of tongue, 

And shrewd as the keenest of men ; 

As lovely as Venus, deliciously young. 

And careless of loss or gain. 

For I would be loved for myself alone, 

Not for my dire infernal throne. 


A VIEW OF THE DEVIL. 


119 


“ ‘ But far more important than beauty or youth 
(Though of course I want them as well), 

Are the virtues of innocence, candor and truth, 

For, though I may reign in liell. 

The woman who fills my wife’s position, 

Must be altogether beyond suspicion.’ 

“So the devil set forth on his anxious quest, 

Foi a lady to go below , 

But he found that he lost his usual rest 
And his progress was ever so slow. 

The woman he needed was hard to find . 

And the cares of his kingdom weighed oa his mind. 

“ The d lughters of England were lovely, he saw, 

A nation of fair-haired queens. 

But those rosy lips could lay down the law. 

And they lived beyond his means. 

So he quietly wandered over to France, 

And there the Parisians led him a dance. 

.* ‘ He sincerely believed for a while 

lie had found what he really wanted. 

But ere another month came around, 

Old Nick was somewhat daunted. 

‘ These ladies are quite beyond me, that’s plain,’ 

He said to himself, as he left for Spain, 

“ But there, though the women were pretty and kind. 

He was very much disappointed; 

They had eyes, to be sure, but he wanted a mind. 

And their hair was too much anointed. 

So again his Majesty sallied forth. 

And this time thought he would visit the North. 

‘ ‘ But why should I tell of his wearisome work. 

And of all the countries he tried. 

Ere he suddenly thought him one day of New York, 

And thereafter thitherward hied. 

But quick as he was, the ladies were ready. 

Their heads were clear, their hands were steady. 


120 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


“ They gave one glance and they looked him through, 

And they knew what he wanted at once, 

And innocence beamed from eyes of blue. 

And candor was queen for the nonce. 

Oh! You should have seen how their eyelids fell. 

While they timidly asked for the news from hell. 

“^The devil was flattered, and flurried and pleased ; 

What grace, what refinement, what sense; 

How well his half-ex pressed ideas were seized. 

And nothing he said gave otfense; 

He never had felt so at home before, 

He longed for them all more and more. 

“ But time was pressing, he could not wait, 

Though scarcely he knew how to choose. 

So he offered his crown, his royal estate. 

Himself and his dead wife’s shoes, 

To a damsel whose candor and virtue intact 
Were all that the devil himself could exact. 

‘ ‘ She accepted his offer ; she did not repent 
AVhen the day of her wedding drew nigh. 

For you know that to hell there’s an easy descent. 

And dear friends would drop in by and by; 

And the devil declared himself more and more blessed, 

As the innocent creature he tenderly pressed. 

“ But when she was married and safely installed 
As queen in the regions of shade, 

’Tis said the devil was father appalled 
At the bargain he seemed to have made; 

He thought, on the whole, it would have been quite as well 
Had he stayed at home, and married in hell.” 

While Mrs. Kibolrl read, the moonlit gulf began to 
darken, and a heavy bank of clouds rose solemnly up and 
veiled tlie face of the sky. Their fantastic shapes seemed 
gloomy, weird and foreboding, as if ominous of some fatal 


A VIEW OF THE DEVIL. 


121 


though yet far-off storm, and just as she ended there came 
from out of their midst a faint flash, as of spectral light- 
ning, — some vague image of unreal terror, — darting 
through the air, through a parting in the trees, and 
through the window to where the beauty stood. It did not 
seem to be a moon-ray, for, as Warren remembered, long 
afterwards, it was not until a minute after the recita- 
tion had ceased, that, still looking upward, he saw the 
moon herself, in all her quiet glory, ascending slowly up 
from the depths of quite another portion of those clouds. 
They vanished away, too, as quickly and as mysteriously 
as they came. The stars again shone out, and the gentle 
sky of night looked down and seemed to smile with sad- 
ness, as if, more pensive than the merrier sunlight, it sor- 
rowed over the evil thoughts of earth. Far down the 
dusky road, among the shadows of the oaks, a wild pa- 
thetic negro voice was singing: 

‘ ‘ When the rocks and the mountains 

Shall all flee away, 

O you will need a new heart of grace that day; 

O sinner, O sister, O give your heart to God ! 

Before the rocks and the mountains do all flee away ” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE KING OF THE CARNI-VAL. 

“ From too much love of living. 

From hope and fear set free, 

We thank, with brief thanksgiving, 

Whatever gods may be:— 

That no life lives forever, 

That dead men rise up never, 

That even the weariest river 
Winds somewhere safe to sea.’* 

New Orleans, La., 

Ash Wednesday, Feb. — , 188-. 

To Alonzo S. Lind, Board of Trade, Chicago, 111. 

My Dear Husband: It is no easy task to distinguish 
between what is grand and beautiful in this world and 
what is brilliant nonsense; and many times was I puzzled 
in seeing the Mardi Gras celebration and processions, to 
know whether, in writing you, I should laud them up to 
the skies, or whether I should tell you that they were 
trivial, laughable, and altogether unworthy of the atten- 
tion of a hard-headed, sensible business man of our cold- 
blooded North. 

But you have asked me to tell you, without addition or 
subtraction, all about these famous affairs. And when I 
remember our long, unavailing search in the book stores, 
before daughter and I left, for some novel that would 
describe a Carnival fully, and how every bookseller told us 

123 


THE KIHG OF THE CARNIVAL. 


123 


that actually no printed work existed which gave any- 
thing more than a glimpse, at the most, of some one 
feature or a side incident, then, my love, perhaps labor is 
not lost in writing you fully thereon. 

For some two or three days men go about the streets 
here crying little books and broad sheets, and newspapers 
are filled with real or exaggerated, or sham particulars, 
and from these scarce and valuable documents, and 
from my own mental note-book, the following informa- 
tion is chiefiy gleaned. In cases of this kind it is difficult 
to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but in 
the interest of those who must stay at home I will try to be 
truthful. 

I must begin at the beginning, premising, in the first 
place, that the wind blows hard here sometimes, and raises 
great clouds of horrible dust from the levees, making our 
pretty daughter hide her face behind a veil. But last 
week^s rain washed away all traces of dust; leaves, flowers 
and grass were bright and clean; green lawns and glisten- 
ing magnolias looked fresh, and roses and orange blossoms 
breathed sweetly. In the cool and pleasant morning of 
Tuesday, the sun rose into deep blue, and sailed, for a day, 
across an azure sea where only white fioating islands of 
feathery silver drifted, and phantom sails of French-gray 
vapor. The incoming thousands were welcomed by sun- 
shine, tempered by a breeze which brought in from the 
the country perfumed messages of delicate congratulation 
from awakened spring blossoms. Many a blossom, how- 
ever, came to town, bringing its fragrance along with it. 


124 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


The crowd of strangers in the city was unusually large. 
The great Saengerfest of the week before drew many 
thousands to New Orleans who would not have been 
attracted so far from home and business by the carnival 
alone. But once here, they had fallen in love with the 
summer skies of the new France, and were loth to return 
prematurely to the piercing winds of the icy February of 
our lakes. The Saengerfest audiences had thus tarried 
until the fete. They were joined by an influx of Carnival 
visitors proper, but more immense than usual, — the United 
States having grown larger than ever before. They poured 
into hotels, boarding and lodging houses, and into private 
residences, which took them because everything else was full. 
Excursionists on sleeping cars turned them into lodging 
camps; arriving steamboats loaded down with tourists, 
were immediately chartered by their passengers and tran- 
formed into floating hotels. Steamers along the levee not 
in active commission served in like capacity. In short, 
never before was such a Mardi Gras seen in New Orleans. 
Many here, not longer restrained by home decorum, cele- 
brated” with such zeal, I am told, that lodgings for them 
were, through choice as well as necessity, a useless luxury.- 

A dark lady by the name of Secessia, woke Greta and 
me at a very early hour on the eventful morning, while 
the bright stars were still winking and laughing overhead, 
and a sharp half-moon was cutting through that blue 
ocean above us. 

^^De ladies had bes’ get up,” she said, ^^else dey will 
forgot to see de maskerees ob de fest-debbel.” 


THE KING OF THE CARNIVAL. 


125 


By which she meant, my dear Alonzo, that masquer- 
ades, in troops of large and small, were already swarming, 
though so early ; and that, unless we looked out on St. 
Charles then and there, we would miss the strange scenes 
at that hour. We told her to bring us colfee, however, 
before we would stir ; and after imbibing the hot break- 
fast we felt ourselves so comfortable in Mrs. Slidell’s cosy 
bed, that for at least half an hour no person in America 
could say whether Mrs. Lind would or would not be pres- 
ent at the Mardi Gras of New Orleans. After a while we 
did get up and peep out the balconies to see showy colors 
gathering, and rose and blue and sulphur-yellow maskers 
dotting the thoroughfare. We dressed and watched them 
increase, until from our gallery, which had a view of St. 
Charles up to Canal, we could perceive a long continuous 
stream, which wound in and out like a gay ribbon upon 
the black mantle of the dense human pack, more somber- 
hued, which enclosed the carnival colors. 

After breakfast Greta and I went out of doors, bound 
for Canal street. We could hardly make our way, and if 
it was not for the fact that I wanted the child to take the 
fresh air (she has been looking pale and absent of late) we 
would have returned. A considerable portion of Canal 
street, and several blocks of the streets leading into it, 
were next to impassable. Still we went on, more for the 
sake of the adventure than any thing else. Street cars 
brimming over with passengers, slowed down, then 
paused at times, then stopped altogether. The police 
could not clear the way. Doorways and banquettes were 


126 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


already overflowing with dammed-up humanity, and those 
who blocked the streets could not be jammed into them. 

So the police would form a column, and then, like a mon- 
ster raft, with their blunt bow, push the masses like 
water, this way and that before them. When the people 
thus carried off bodily would reach a less crowded quarter, 
they would stand and wait again like so many patient 
sheep. Poor things, I so pitied them ! 

After Greta and I thought we had air and jostling 
enough, we went back to Mrs. Slidell’s to lunch, for the 
procession was not to move until the afternoon and then 
would pass right by our boarding place. 

When after lunch we came out on the front balcony 
of the second story, where our fellow boarders were col- 
lecting, the air and buildings round about were tinged 
with the golden Southern sunshine, but the clear half- 
moon before mentioned was still in the sky, where it ' 
seemed lingering as if it would catch a peep of the com- 
mencement of the famous procession. The Lee column 
down the street was glistening in a keen light, and the 
General on top looked as clean and rosy as if he had just 
made his toilette. Long banners were flaunting about, 
among which the tri-color of France was most conspicuous. 
The long avenues had been partly covered with sand for 
the convenience of those who were to tramp across it that 
day. Hundreds of creoles were marching to and fro, 
laughing, chattering, singing, gesticulating as happy 
Frenchmen do. There is no better sight than a French 
crowd on the alert for a festival, and nothing more catch- 


THE KING OF THE CARNIVAL. 


127 


ing than their good humor. Itinerant merchants were 
shouting out lustily their commodities ; the city hall was 
decorated like other buildings all along the way with huge 
flags of blue, red and white, and the appearance of the 
whole was lively and picturesque in the extreme. 

Mr. Meeks joined us on the balcony, seated himself 
between Greta and me. (Was it significant of how lie is 
to separate mother and daughter?) He explained that the 
moving tableaux, or panorama of floats, which now sweep 
in carnival along the streets of New Orleans, originated in 
1837 with the ‘‘Oowbellions” of her sister creole city of 
Mobile. The pupil has learned her lesson well. 

We had not waited long, when in the distance — 

‘^R-r-r-rum! — r-r-r-rum ! — rum- rum-rum ! 

That was what those dissipated drums called for, all 
suddenly booming together; and away off on Canal street, 
where every eye was eagerly turned to one quarter, every 
head up-lifted, every neck stretched and strained in a vain 
race to be higher than every other, with all the bands strik- 
ing up, and all the mad chaos becoming a mad sort of 
order, began the monster processional rum- dance. 

Down St. Charles street it came, toward us, accom- 
panied by gun-banging, flag-waving, trumpets pealing, 
drums rolling. Then we saw horse and foot, militia, 
cuirass and bayonet, and citizen generals, all over gold, 
smart aides-de-camp galloping about like mad, satin ban- 
ners, upright golden lions, and high in the midst of all, 
riding on his richly-draped elaborate throne, and over 
hung by an arched canopy, Solomon in all his glory, the 


V2S 


THE MADOJfKA OP PASS ClIKISTIAK. 


Imperial Caesar, Kex,^’ with his jeweled crown over his 
head, laurels and standards waving about his gorgeous 
chariot, and unnumbered thousands looking on in applaud- 
ing wonder. 

'His Majesty, the King of the Carnival, we saw from the 
emblazoned shield that went before, brought with him 
The Rulers of Ancient Times.” As we scrutinized the 
the superb vestments that clothed the royal person, and 
the costumes of the warrior body-guard which attended 
his chariot, it was clear that the reigning apparition of 
this year’s Carnival was august Urukh, of Chaldea. That 
monarch graciously waved his sceptre at the incessant 
cheers which greeted him on his course through the way- 
side assemblies of his loyal subjects. 

Following this great king, came the B37zantine chariot 
of the Emperor Justinian, with his law-books, and priests 
and soldiers. Justinian looked as vain and bigoted as 
when he last ruled this earth, even although his remark- 
able wife, Theodora, stood near him. 

A full-arrnored knight, and an escort of soldiers hold- 
ing aloft his imperial colors, preceded the Assyrian, King 
Shalmaneger. He who had carried the Jews captive now 
must grace the triumph of Rex. Y'et he was treated as 
became a king; slaves fanned him on each side, and two 
Assyrian musicians crouched at his feet and piped away 
the tedium of the journey. 

Then came Solomon and all his wives. 

These fellows seem to be very glad to get back from 
the regions of shade,” said Mr. Meeks tome; do you 


THE KING OF THE CARNIVAL. 


129 


remember what Aristotle said of the state of the soul after 
death?” 

I do not,” said I coldly, for that gentleman^s opinions 
upon our future life are not such as I like Greta to hear. 
But he persisted: — 

“ Aristotle holds that if anything be enjoyed by the 
dead it must be little; not enough to make happy those 
who were not so before. This sentiment Homer puts into 
the mouth of Achilles in the Elysian fields with respect 
to the souls of the virtuous; Achilles says that he had 
rather be a slave to the meanest on earth, than King of all 
in the regions below.” 

‘^Behold the renowned Chinese potentate, Ching Wang, 
in his Pagoda,” said I, wishing to change the subject. 
This monarch was carried in a palanquin on the shoulders 
of sixteen stalwart natives. Over him fiaunted gay-colored 
emblems of the Celestial Kingdom, and in his train, I 
hoped, went the abandoned topic of Aristotle, Homer, and 
the discontented Achilles, from whom we do not take our 
gospel. ' 

Then picture to yourself: — 

Beautiful Zenobia of Palmyra, upon an elevated throne 
in a flowery chariot, with five armed Amazons for a guard. 

Kamesis of Egypt floating along in a huge gondola, 
with a retinue of warriors, musicians and domestics. 

‘"The Egyptians,” said Mr. Meeks to Greta, with a 
perseverance which to me seemed inexplicable, ""were the 
first of mankind who defended the immortality of the 
soul, holding that after death it used as vehicles every 


130 


THE MADOIfN'A OF PASS CHRISTIAN". 


species of terrestrial, aquatic and winged creatures, before it 
re-entered a human body. Herodotus said with dry humor 
that this opinion had been adopted by some Greeks, but 
that he should not, though able, specify their names.” 

It pained me to hear Greta ask, with a strange, hard, 
cynical interest, whether other learned men of old dis- 
believed in our future resurrection. 

‘^Epicurus,” replied her fiance, ^‘held that ^ nothing is 
incorporeal besides a vacuum which gives bodies room to 
move in. They who say the soul is incorporal talk fool- 
ishly. As the soul had no pre-existence from the body, 
it must have been produced together with the body, grow 
up and decay with it. ^ Pliny disbelieved ‘in wandering 
ghosts, or that body or soul have more sense after their 
dying day than before their nativity. In the very hour of 
death the vanity of man flatters its folly with fond imag- 
inations and dreamings of I know not what life after this, 
desiring a certain transfiguration, or other fantastical toys 
— the devisings of men who would live always and never 
make an end, ^ so he says.” ' 

“But,” asked Greta, “has not Plato composed an ex- 
cellent dialogue on immortality ?” 

“ He errs grossly and reasons in a circle. Plato sup- 
poses the human soul to be an emanation of the Deity 
which is purified by various transmigrations and then re- 
absorbed into the divine essence. Instead of proving, this 
hypothesis disproves its claim. For instance, the divine 
emanation in Plato was a distinct individual while animat- 
ing his body or any other it might enter; its consciousness 


THE KIJ^-Q OF THE CARNIVAL. 


131 


continued, linked by memory, and convinced of personal 
identity. But when re-absorbed into the divine essence, 
its personal identity must cease; to the individual such ces- 
sation of personal existence is equal to annihilation. Again, 
supposing that the souk was created (the only doctrine 
rational or tenable), Plato and his disciples said that it must 
perish. Thus what Plato said naturally tends to prove 
mortality. The most labored arguments of the ancients 
are only a fond desire and longing after everlasting life.^^ 

“Even the wisest ancients ^ by wisdom knew not Gocl,'^^ 
I murmured, and then added, “Now children, attend to 
the ‘ Rulers of Ancient Times,^ you can philosophize any 
day hereafter, but you may never see another Carnival. 

They interchanged a peculiar look, and we all three 
then closely watched the pageant until it was over. 

There was Alexander the Great, in a handsome great 
chariot drawn by three snow-white horses, escorted by horse- 
men, stormy martial music, and theinvincible phalanx which 
vanquished the descendant of Xerxes. All were in fitting 
Macedonian costume. 

Then a golden-winged car rolled along containing the 
Caliph of the Ommeades, Abderahrnanof Spain. He had 
crushed Roderick the Goth and founded the Moorish dy- 
nasty in the proud kingdom of Arragon. His equipage was 
rife with suggestionsof romantic Grenada, and its Alhambra, 
Mnd you could almost hear the tinkling of castanets in 
Seville’s Alcazar. 

Next cantered an ebony steed bearing William the Con- 
queror in full dress. His knightly escort was mounted and 
clad in feudal attire. 


132 


THE MADOKXA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


“William, the curfew instituted by your Majesty shall 
not ring tonight/^ said your daughter Greta. 

“ Not until a very late hour/^ I responded, glad to see 
her light spirits returning. “ What is this next figure?” 

Mr. Meeks read from the programme: 

“ Cyaxares, Median conqueror of the Assyrians; sur- 
rounded, like a true Oriental, by native women in attitudes 
at once seductive and worshipful.” 

A dozen slaves carried the Arab palanquin, which 
followed and in which was seated, tailor-fashion, the 
Caliph of Bagdad, A1 Mansour. His bright green robes 
became the famous Mohammedan, and his orthodox 
turban was white. 

Tableau next: Charlemagne on a chair of state, robed 
magnificently. On his head was the famous imperial 
crown which the Pope had there placed. At his right 
hand stood a mitred bishop in surplice and cape, carrying 
a crozier. An ambassador kneeled before Charlemagne, 
extending gifts. 

The bloody Genseric, cruel king of the Vandals, then 
towered above the multitudes, with his warriors and 
generals, and a mounted guard. 

The gentleman popularly called the assassinator of his 
mother, persecutor of Christians, incendiary of Rome, 
“fiend incarnate,” — namely, the Emperor Nero, then 
tragically appeared. In the eloquent language of ■ the 
newspaper reporters after the event, “the splendor of his 
luxurious throne was unparalleled. At his feet crouched 
a tawny lioness, and this noble queen of beasts also petted 
him from pedestals in rear.” 


THE KING OF THE CARislVAL. 


133 


What do you think of that, Alonzo? 

The royal cortege ended in: — Albion of Lombardy in 
a chariot of fire, with mounted scouts. Menes of Egypt, 
seated at the foot of a huge idol; near by, with its usual 
calm goodnatured smile, was a sphinx. Slaves prostrated 
themselves before the tyrant; male Egyptians and female 
Ethiopians surrounded him, strikingly attired in antique 
costume; and the mighty warriors of Cyrus of Persia, 
with their monarch, brought up the rear. 

Last of all came the only true, sincere being in the 
whole display, the poor ox, without sham or pretense, ‘Me 
boeuf gras.” His skin was as glossy as satin. On his 
gilded horns were wreaths of flowers. His four legs, 
motionless, were tied under surrounding greenery. Meekly 
bent down was his grand head — for it was fastened also; 
he could only glance sideways at the idle crowds with such 
looks as might have given Homer his simile of “ox-eyed 
Juno.” Poor, dear animal; his “triumph” is over now, 
and he has died to please those who laughed at him in life. 
Yet his sacrifice for us will never be rewarded, and I think 
very tenderly of his majestic beauty, his suffering, and the 
pathos of his great eyes, so patient and uncomplaining. 

The cavalcade of showy maskers swept on in storms of 
music, heavy or light, with a blaze of color and glitter of 
gay dresses and gilded comparisons which were handsome 
even by daylight. From Canal street at the levee, all 
along to St. Charles, and down the latter street as far as I 
could see, was one continuous torrent of sound and color, 
waving of hands, pattering of feet, the discord of impro- 


134 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


vised music, the jargon of antiquated instruments, rushing 
of crimson hoods, yellow head-dresses, mock religious 
costumes. The surging and excited crowds moved at 
caprice, in companies, or squads, or singly, pouring along 
between the curious battlements of Creole architecture, 
and flowing away in broken streams as if to empty into 
some undiscovered ocean. White wire masks, regular 
and oval, like the human countenance, but as devoid of 
expression as the face of a corpse, skated in procession, 
dancing and beckoning like spectres. 

Band after band went whirling by, swinging, swaying, 
like mighty pendulums, invisibly moving through the air; 
and, with them, the many-hued sounding river of fantastic 
mummery ebbed swiftly out of sight. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE ELVES OF THE CARNIVAL KINGDOM. 

{Letter f rom Mrs. Lind to her husband. — Continued.) 

Soon after sapper Greta and Mr. Meeks, with myself as 
chaperon, walked along St. Charles street toward Canal. 
Although there had been a general scramble for carnages 
and street cars after the Rex display of the afternoon, yet 
between Customhouse and Rampart streets, on Canal, 
the waiting masses were only very slightly thinned out. 
S<) deep was the excitement and interest that many 
remained where they were for the night parades, without 
going home to dinner. We thus found the central portions 
of the city thronged until next to impassable. Billows 
and currents of people surged through the main thorough- 
fares, and I was told, and I believe, that never before in 
New Orleans was the press of numbers so appalling. The 
walls which hemmed them in kindled upon the streaming 
black masses a weird and brilliant illumination. Festoons 
of fire and white, blue, amber, crimson and purple links 
welded into fiery chains, embellished with white fire doves, 
letters of flame, beautiful shapes of many-hued colored 
lights, diamonds of electric sparks set in burning topaz, 
and long waving lines of snow-white incandescents, would 
have warmed a fire-bug^s heart. 

Among the company assembled on the second-story ter- 
135 


136 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


race before the Harmony Club, perhaps the casual observer 
would not have remarked a lady named Mrs. Alonzo \V. 
Lind, who, nevertheless, shortly before 8 p. m., was there. 
How she ever got there through the jam below is a mystery 
to your loving wife. I have an indistinct recollection of 
getting into a human maelstrom, of being whirled this 
way and that, and finally, by some lucky and wholly 
unlooked-for accident, feeling the tide of bodies setting in 
the wished-for direction, floating us, helpless as chips or 
straws on real water, to the landing place of the Harmony 
Club. There we disembarked and climbed to the seats 
kindly provided for us by a member of the club. 

Imagine how glad we were to rest ! What a long breath 
we took when we came out from the hot club rooms into 
the cool night air of the terrace over the heads of the less 
fortunate struggling democrats below. 

^^0, don’t things look just lovely was the enthusiastic 
exclamation of Greta as she took a seat there under white 
lime lights, stars and a monstrous harp of flowers which 
said, in letters of flame — 

“ Welcome ! 

Across the way was a striking illumination which 1 
poetically described as looking like chain lightning 
crystallized.^^ At this, Greta, who never appreciates poetic 
similes and who often scoffs at my touching and romantic 
ideas, wanted to know whether crystals of lightning were 
soluble in water, and whether, among the different species 
of that heaven -descended fluid, there was any illumination 
hereabouts which might be likened or ascribed to that 


THE ELVES OF THE CARNIVAL KINGDOM. 137 


peculiar variety known as Jersey lightning. At this jeer 
1 turned my head aside in silent maternal dignity. 

It was a pretty scene which met my wandering eyes. 
Xot faraway was tlie Boston Club, its entire front being 
covered with white lights in arches and double rows, while 
a firey eagle spread its blazing wings over the thousand visi- 
tors which sat at the club’s balcony. The Louisiana and 
Pickwick Clubs ‘^outdid themselves/^ as we say when we 
have exhausted our adjectives. All the clubs were bathed 
in white and colored ligiit, until Canal street was ‘^bright 
as a sunny day.” (For which latter simile your wife begs 
to give credit to the newspapers of the morrow, the same 
being original with them — only adding that if ^^a sunny 
day” ever comes which looks as lurid as New Orleans did 
that night, she means to get ready instant er her end-of- 
the- world Ascension Robes and her golden slippers.) It 
was, however, I cheerfully admit, the prettiest open air 
scene I had ever witnessed after nightfall. 

Both sides of the streets were lined with amphitheatres 
of seats crowded with visitors. From Chartres to Ram- 
part every balcony contained just as man}’^ as could cling 
to them. Some had bought seats on housetops and were 
crawling to their stations from parapet and garret win- 
dows. 

As the hour for the night procession approached, you 
could hear a prolonged buzz and hum, which deepened every 
moment and gradually swelled into a roar that filled the 
air. No words, nor even voices, could be distinguished, 
and, finally, the clamor grew so loud that R drowned the 
distant booming of the assembling bands. 


138 


THE MADON^NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Every window now was choked up with heads. The 
housetops teemed with people clinging to chimneys, peer- 
ing over gable ends, and holding on where the sudden 
loosening of any brick or stone would dash them down 
into the street. The ceaseless tramping of feet by untold 
thousands produced a low monotone, upon which were 
grafted all manner of fantastic variations. From beyond 
the confines of the crowd came the sound of carriage 
wheels and horses, iron-shod hoofs, rattling sharply on the 
rough stone pavements. Above the profound bass of the 
tramping, we heard ringing soprano peals of merry laugh- 
ter and rhe shrill shouts of gleeful children; then, far off 
above the din, began the rumble of drums; then the singing 
of brass bands, faint at first and mellowed by the distance, 
often interrupted by the nearer roll of voices. But they 
were coming closer, and presently their swelling overcame 
the human tumult and caused a partial silence. Ahead of 
the Great Expected rode a military troop, whose muskets 
and bright steel wound among the dark crowd, gleaming 
and glittering like a moonlit river. 

Following its shining wake, while the music grew 
louder and more clear, with thousands and thousands of 
eyes upon it, from houses and housetops, from balconies, 
black, purple and tri-color, from tops of trees and tele- 
graph poles, from behind long lines of police and militia, 
pushing, struggling, heaving, panting, eager, the heads of 
an enormous multitude stretching out to meet and follow 
it, casting before it a flaring red and blue halo, came — 
‘‘The Car of Proteus/^ 


THE ELVES OF THE CARNIVAL KINGDOM. 


139 


The son of Oceanus sat in a car drawn by dolphins, 
and the car floated on the crest of a great blue wave of 
tlie sea. White foam and crystal ripples were around; the 
long, green seaweeds dragged from beneath, rising astern 
on the billow. It was followed by smaller waves, whose 
curling crests each took a human form; the flowing water 
drapery of these attendants thus blended with the ocean. 
The wavy robes of Proteus were blue as the sea; silver and 
blue butterflies accompanied him; a huge green and gold 
waterfly was among the seaweed’s tassels, and all about 
gay marine insects fluttered their gauzy wings. The 
points and angles of Proteus’ swimming palace, like a 
thousand mirrors, reflected the flashing of the street illu- 
minations on its way. It was a glittering scene, and 
really, without exaggeration, most beautiful. 

Proteus had been journeying through Elf-land, and what 
he saw in that fair country was now reproduced in one 
dream after another. 

The first vision was of a green landscape drenched with 
rain. In the center of a pond rose a mossy islet, where 
the Elves of the Pond made their home. They sat under 
umbrella-shaped plants whose leaves were dripping with 
crystals. From our own experience we are aware that the 
Spirit of many a Pond is no other than that prosy singer, 
Mr Bull Frog. Such a basso prof undo appeared on this 
fairy islet, holding a plant umbrella, and warbling strange 
Wagnerian music. 

This dream faded away; then appeared a dank marshy 
prairie, where green and brown grasses, long and rank. 


140 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


were busy manufacturing the malaria which it is the well- 
known delight of the Elves of the Prairie to inflict on first 
settlers. Those misanthropical elves rode steel-blue and 
bottle-green mosquito hawks. The tall slender stems of 
cat-tails formed a body guard of ague fits. 

At the bottom of the ocean, I was next informed, is an 
elfin home with a pink atmosphere. A forest of coral 
grows around and shelters the pearl Elves of the Ocean. 
Rainbow-hued shells, animated, float through the coral 
boughs, while crawfish and anemones perform an uncanny 
dance. 

A woodland scene next attracted our attention. Green 
ferns were springing from a carpet of fallen leaves, which 
were painted with the crimson and orange of autumn. 
Here rode the Elves of Ferns, upon huge beetles, '^play- 
fully waging war^^ (so I was told) with the help of the 
flashing gauzy wings of the flying beetles. 

One Autumn morning, it seemed, this Shepherd of the 
Sea fell asleep in an Elfin forest amidst its winter leafless- 
ness. So, as we saw, the unfortunate bare trees had their 
nakedness hid under dainty mantles of cobwebs. These, 
Jack Frost had sprinkled with his powdered silver, and 
the latter had melted uHder the rising sun into myriads of 
crystal drops. Again the felicitous newspaper comes to 
my aid. These, it says, " encrusted the slender threads 
with materalized sunshine, and ornamented the bower of 
the Elves of the Cobwebs.” 

We gasped and gazed upon the next wonder, to 
discover that from ‘'materalized sunshine” the dreamer 


THE ELVES OF THE CARKIVAL KINGDOM. 141 

f ' 

was suddenly transported to the rather more prosaic region 
of the dark brown earth of a market garden. Among 
growing cabbages, turnips and beets were the gaily attired 
Elves of the Vegetables. They rode on a garden tortoise, 
having halted in a bower of pea vines. Groups of elves 
reclined here and there, while a white rabbit was dining 
on caterpillars. 

Next came the Elves of Sound, playing on four great 
harps. Their glittering strings were wreathed in flowers. 
I never saw how music was n:iade until I observed one busy 
little elf here fluttering in a brass horn; flutes, lyres, lutes 
and cymbols joined in an automaton chorus. 

The Elves of Light played with a fallen meteor, and 
dazzled us with rays of blue, pink, green and white. So 
we turned our blinded eyes to the haunt of the Elves of 
the Tropics. Boa constrictors were twining here and 
strange flowers grew into human shapes, blending below 
into leaves. 

In a little sylvan glade, under a canopy, the Elves of 
the Dance waltzed to the tinkling of a fairy orchestra. 
Their dance hall was lit by tiny fires which burned in 
hollyhocks. Elfin footmen hung about with that starched 
stiff manner usual with these awful dignitaries. 

Then, in imagination, we dived. How many fathoms 
deep into the ocean^s bed, I know not, but when we ^^got 
there,” we bowed low before the throne of His Grotesque 
Majesty, the Genius of the Shells. From the interior of a 
shell, pink light illumined his watery domains. The walls 
of his palace were of green, gold, blue, silver and snow- 


142 


THE MADOJfN^A OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


white shells. Very gorgeous, was it not? I feel much 
like starting a house on Michigan Avenue after some one 
of these architectural suggestions. 

Are you getting tired, Alonzo? Well, you will become 
more so ere you are through. Having started out to do 
the Carnival, you must do every detail of it. 

Behold, the banks of a brook in the Elf country, where 
pansies and violets grow. Here a rose lay dying, and 
about her the violets gathered, bowing their heads with 
grief. Fragrant gems of the meadow sighed, and among 
them, in orange blossoms, nestled the Elves of Perfume. 

Then marched an army of ciiess men, cards, checkers 
and dice. The Elves of the Games, base ball cranks, were 
playing for the pennant, while billiard cues looked excit- 
edly on, and poker chips wished to bet two to one on the 
Windy City’s,” — a place in Elf-land. 

The next float pictured the quiet depths of a forest. On 
the margin of a calm, glimmering pool were lilies, where 
dwelt the Elves of the Flowers. They peeped from over 
petal rims and from among the surrounding foliage. One 
looked into the nest of a humming-bird, as if he were 
about to descend into a cave. 

Fancy then a rich mine, with pillars whose outlines 
are subterranean dragons, and whose red-glowing galleries 
lead us on to a bla-zing forge where the Elves of the Metals 
are’ working. Gnomes are busily forging their tools, and 
the whole character of the mine is such, that I respectfully 
recommend its shares to your most careful consideration 
for investment. 


THE ELVES OF THE CARHIVAL KINGDOM. 


143 


The Elves of the Dreams were shown in rosy bowers. 
(Again the poetic imagery of my memorandum news- 
paper.) Cupids looped up a pink hammock (why is 
romance always and in this lovely hammock slept 
the most beautiful maiden ever seen. Elves fanned her, 
and obligingly strewed flowers all around; humming birds 
and ^‘dainty butterflies^^ flitted about her pillow, but nary 
a musquito. In another hammock was a stout diner-out, 
bearing a remote resemblance to Dauncey Chepew. Bats 
and goblins riding on nightmares press around him, with 
many another eerie shape. Half suffocated with food, the 
terror-stricken victim of great dinners writhes in torture. 

Proteus has now traversed earth and sea. As he 
departs from this world, via the North Pole, huge trans- 
lucent blue ice-floes appear, with crystals glimmering in 
the (electric) sunlight. Enthroned on a comfortable ice- 
berg is King Polar Bear, surrounded by ursine attendants. 
Here the Elves of the Frigid Zone dance about ‘Hike 
Esquimaux.” (?) And then, in a great red glory of Aurora 
Borealis, from earth’s top-most perch Proteus takes his 
flighty amid deafening huzzas from his earthly spectators. 

And here, if you will excuse me, I will pause and take 
breath. 

“In 1839,” said our Harmony host, Mr. Clark, as we 
sat on the balcony immediately behind Greta, “in 1839, a 
long, brilliant cavalcade passed up St. Charles street near 
Lafayette Square. Little children especially were delighted 
at the immense chicken cock, six feet high, which stalked 
along, crowing and flapping its wings. That was Comus’ 


144 


THE MADOHNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


first appearance. Many changes have occurred since 
then.” 

^'Perhaps those who were infants in nurses’ arms 
then/’ I remarked, stand near us to-night, old men, — 
looking back through the vistas of the past. What must 
be their thoughts!” 

‘^From the harp which memory touches,” he replied, 
throb the strains of epidemic, war, love, marriage and 
death.” 

^‘As your old citizens recall the pinafore and their 
childish joy on that first hopeful visit of Oomus, I suppose 
they feel to-night a warming of the heart toward ^ Ye Mys- 
tic Krewe’ which no new exhibition could gain.” And as 
I spoke I heard the thunder of its approaching orchestras. 

Indeed no triumph of a later day,” said Mr. Clark, 
would be greeted with such enthusiastic cheers. Here 
they come! The merry god seems to have lost none of 
those seductions, which, during the war, had to slumber.” 

In the vanguard was the wondrous bird which the 
legend says was born of fiame and ashes. Eed fiames 
were still leaping from its cradle around the Phoenix. 
Flaring illuminations on its road burnished theg.reen wing 
feathers of its youth and scintillated on its red beak. This 
held the scroll: 

Palingenesis of Comus.” 

After which, a forest moved through the night air. 
Here King Comus sat on a throne, playing a silver harp 
and, at times, waving a sceptre toward his devotees. His 
charm fell alike on saint and sinner, on Greta and Mr. 


THE ELVES OF THE CARNIVAL KINGDOM. 


145 


Meeks. From curbstone to gallery, from windows filled 
with belles to urchins on telegraph poles, he cast his happy 
spell, and until the last of his krewe had gone the applause 
never ceased. Truly the Witch of Endor must have been 
abroad that night with her familiar spirit; they brought 
up” before your astonished wife, first: — 

The Lost Paradise of Milton: clouds darkened the 
verge of hell, and through their rifts the infernal fiames 
lashed upward. Green-armored falling angels brandished 
spears against their pursuers — angels in armor of light. 
The radiant defenders of the Celestial Kingdom hurled 
silver lances downward, toward the bottomless pit. 

The azure peak of Mount Olympus then sailed through 
certain clouds. Golden-robed Jupiter sat there with a 
supply of thunderbolts handy.' At his feet was blue-capped 
Juno; on his left huntress Diana, blacksmith Vulcan and 
sea-faring Neptune. Below the shimmering vapor around 
the peak lower down, was Prometheus before the sacred 
fire. Kecall a certain menagerie and its cage containing 
A Happy Family, and? you will appreciate the peaceful 
tendencies of Juno, Minerva, Venus, and the rest of that 
Olympian family. 

In the train of those divinities very naturally came the 
Lord of Misrule and his jolly fellows. Their festal hall 
was lighted by immense candles and they were engaged 
with goblets and decanters celebrating the Twelfth Night. 

I next descried, afar, the sandy shores of Hispaniola 
and the Discovery of America. A sombre priest was 
extending his hands in pronouncing a blessing, while a 


146 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


cross was being raised on the edge of a wood. Among 
knights, sailors and soldiers, Spain's banner waving over 
him, stood Columbus, while Indians looked curiously on. 
The sea lapped the beach, and the cocoanut and palmetto 
trees waved gently in the imitation wind. 

The Ages of Man followed solemnly. There was 
Spring's fresh, green leaves about a cradle; a lad and 
maiden with budding lilies treading a path, which, through 
ripening verdure, led to an old couple reading a Bible. 
The Angel of Death held over them his sickle. 

Professor Darwin then illustrated (on a float") his 
Descent of Man. There appeared a bull-dog, with waxed 
and scented moustache, and he tried to charm a beloved 
nanny-goat; this dear one received his addresses smilingly. 
A bland yellow fox with curling brush approached its 
selection. There was the Eden which finally evolved 
Adam, and among its bread-fruit trees the striped zebra 
pranced toward the giraffe. A sea laved the feet of a 
senile walrus who pretended unconsciousness of certain 
pretty words which fell upon his car from a female ele- 
phant. A large Tom cat staggered under a bottle of Old 
Tom gin. The chaperon of this amiable assembly was a 
frog. 

Then Epicurus practiced his arts of magic before us. 
His floating votaries sat around a red covered table. From 
this a bewitched knife and fork of their own accord rose 
up and carved automatically. A lobster sprawled over a 
kettle and, by raising a claw, tacitly asked permission to 
boil himself. Waving celery motioned significantly. A 


. THE ELVES OP THE CARNIVAL KINGDOM. 147 

champagne bottle braced its feet upon a basket^s rim and 
with its arms beckoned the diners to drink. 

This levity was succeeded by two grave natives of the 
East. They walked by the side of an Indian elephant 
caparisoned in green and gold. Upon its back was a light 
howdah, shaped like a throne. Here reclined Lalla Rookh 
in mid-day languor. I saw Hindoo girls strew flowers 
before her as she journeyed on; her attendants sang love 
ballads. 

Next came The Five Senses.” A flower's perfume 
was inhaled by a prodigious nose, the possession of a sim- 
ple fop, whose mind had changed to hair ointment. In 
rebuke to that common vice of listening through keyholes, 
ears larger than those keyholes' doors equipped an eaves- 
dropping girl. She gazed on a fountain in whose spray a 
mermaid gamboled, with that reckless, clothesless manner 
so frequent with mermaids. (Why she so gazed, I do not 
know. Ask Comus.) Two giant palms represented the 
.sense of touch. A vain girl's sight was gratified by a 
mirror. An emigrant to the United States from Ethiopia 
regaled his taste with watermelons — beloved by black 
Pompeys. A brass idol grinned from under a temple at 
the pampered organs which demanded all sacrifices and 
which yet failed of contentment. 

Bienville then called upon us. The founder of Lou- 
isiana was accompanied by three other ex-governers. 
Although this quartette had been absent from their old col- 
ony longer than Rip Van Winkle slept, their clothes were 
much less tattered. As they rode on toward their mighty 


148 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


river, conversing, the words escaped Bienville, is 
good.^^ 

Spenser^s Faerie Queen followed in a chariot hauled by 
an incongruous team. In the center a camel pulled; a 
dexterous outrider bestrode a wolf; an excited image rode 
a lion, urging it on with a torch; astride a waddling hog 
was the corpulent gentleman who liked eatables more 
than exercise of that kind. The bejeweled, gauzy-winged 
queen sat in a huge shell against a background of plu- 
mage, for a friendly peacock had stretched his splendid 
tail out over her. Fairies robed in cobwebs fluttered glint- 
ingly about the leaves of a neighboring century plant. 
Softly and with magic speed SpenseFs queen cleared the 
way for Homer^s romance, which succeeded. 

Fancy a Grecian terrace, a graceful swan and crystal 
sprays of water. Do you recognize Mt. Ida? This was 
it, and here on the judgment seat, in a grapevine alcove, 
sat Paris, listening to three claimants for a golden apple. 
Juno promised a kingdom; Minerva, intellectual superi- 
ority and martial renown; Venus, the fairest woman in 
the world. The judicial mind of the shepherd carefully 
weighed their divine arguments. 

When this court adjourned, there rumbled by the pri- 
meval forest with the Missing Link. In the depths of 
that piece of woods, dressed in evening broadcloth and 
stiff, white minstrel collar, was a monkey, who thumbed 
the banjo and thereby gave vent to music. 

‘‘This,^^ said Mr. Clark, ^Gove stirred within his sonl.^^ 

Among coral reefs in the primeval sea lingered the 


THE ELVES OF THE CARNIVAL KINGDOM. 


149 


^‘butt of his affections^' (as a fellow-boarder, Mrs. Gunn, 
subsequently described it). The butt of his affections, a 
mermaid, was snuffing the bouquet which he had recently 
presented. A grasshopper fiddled for a gay butterfly, who 
affectionately held her parasol above the insect violinist. 
An aged opossum watched the two through his spectacles. 
Meanwhile a great white cock lifted a black bottle to his 
lips, ever and anon. 

After the tipsy rooster walked their excellencies, the 
dignified ambassadors to the court of King Ooinus. Tar- 
tars fierce and Burmese severe were known by the curved 
swords which they carried. Mongolians held in leash a 
Bengal tiger and guarded the mandarin despot, who rode 
in a pagoda with female attendants. (The pagoda was 
discreetly veiled.) 

Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, in all their mutual 
glory, then came riding on a movable throne. Having 
just uttered some proverb or other about silence being 
golden, the wise king was, in that instance, practicing 
what he preached. (Solomon is really growing quite 
familiar. I have seen him two or three times to-day in 
New Orleans, and would now know him anywhere.) 

A crusader rode forth from his castle to the holy wars, 
with trusty knights and men-at-arms around, and mailed 
soldiers in rear. The master's sword pointed skyward, 
while a herald in front trumpeted hisdeparture. A priest 
held up a cross and blessed them as they started on their 
pious quest (on the float). 

Close upon this Christian assembly rushed the heathen 


150 


THE MADONis^A OF PASS GIIKISTIAX. 


Phaeton. This ambitious young man had just gotten a 
permit from his papa, Helios, to drive the family carriage 
for one day. Aware that they were not guided by the 
well-known hand, the flame-breathing steeds had run oft' 
the road and were dashing furiously over the glowing 
clouds — about to involve the universe in a (deplorable) 
conflagration (the said universe not being insured against 
fire). 

Seated in a palanquin, borne upon the shoulders of 
Aztecs, among gold, jewels, plumes and feathers, was 
Montezuma, just essaying on his fatal errand to Cortez. 
The Mexican way was lined with palms, cactus, pears, and 
pagan idols ; the latter seemed to watch the meeting with 
his Christian foe. 

In chilly Scandinavia a hell which was represented as 
being warm might attract the shivering inhabitants of that 
country. The ice grotto now appeared in which wicked 
Norsemen were condemned to the pain of eternal cold. 
Long, green, slimy ice snakes hissed in sinners’ faces, and 
the chill breath of the ice queen froze them to the marrow. 
A fierce wolf, the terror of the Northern forests, glowered 
and threatened the sufferers who tried to grasp the slip- 
pery snakes. Endless coils of serpents twisted up and 
down the pillars, and a comfortable coolness was left behind 
in the air, which I rather liked, the day being warm, and 
dancing being in order. 

Then came pearly gates, celestial walls, shining col- 
umns and arches, brokenly seen through drifting clouds. 
And across a dark river I saw a vision of bright angels 


THE ELVES OF THE CAKHIVAL KINGDOM. 151 

waiting, my dear husband, some day to receive into Para- 
dise you and me. 

And so the last of the Carnival dreams floats on. 
Unbroken lines of delight and acclamation view it fade 
away. Then the chanting of the innumerable bands grows 
more faint in the increasing distance; the drums'* deep 
bass becomes inaudible, perhaps a crescendo at intervals. 
Now and then there is a wild swelling of mystic harmony, 
as the passing rythmic gale is wafted to the ear in gusts. 
Finally, dazed and blinded, it is only by degress that the 
senses regain their wonted intelligence, and become aware 
that the glitter and the tinsel, the splendid and the paltry, 
the beautiful and grotesque, the floods of vari-colored light, 
the gaudily-decked populace, the motley throiigs crowding 
the streets from wall to wall, the wild pranks of picturesque 
maskers, the limitless hubbub and confusion, the braying 
of trumphets, and the pounding of drums are over now — 
all gone away into that past which never returns. 

And this flnishes, my dear husband, the picture which 
I have drawn for you of the great carnival. 

Your loving wife. 


Marguerite. 


CHAPTER XL 


FAIRIES OF THE CARNIVAL BALL. 

All day long the heavens above the Carnival had arched 
in ideal beauty;— all day long that radiant blue dome was 
smiling with gentle sunshine, until '‘the weather, neither 
too warm nor too cold,"" said Greta and Warren, " was 
faultless;""— all day long had the cloudless sky revealed in 
its exquisite transparency that inexpressible tenderness 
which no poet and no painter can ever image, that sweet- 
ness which mortal art can never picture, but which recalls 
the matchless charm of love in the blue of a woman"s eyes. 
For many years it will be remembered; even in Louisiana, 
a more perfect day was never seen. 

Evening came and the dying sun flared up in splendor. 
The celestial twilight deepened, darkened, into spectral 
gray, green and pearl light, blended with a mighty glory of 
a vast and awful light of gold. Gradually the stars 
blossomed out in the heavens, and the glory died in the 
West, leaving the Evening Star quivering like a molten 
drop of liquid white Are. Ever thrilling more and more 
with silent twinklings, the violet liight drew its vast sweet- 
ness over the city. 

There was more than one ball that night, and, as if in 
sympathizing preparation for them, the kindly Southern 
warmth moderated with the passing of the sunny hours. 


FAIRIES OF THE CARNIVAL BALL. 


153 


A cool night wind waited very intelligently until the out- 
of-door pageants were nearly ended, and then began to 
blow and dance until it infused into the social tempera- 
ment its own animation, — the last finishing touch of the 
great Artist who painted the background of those Carnival 
figures. One of the latter, Greta by name, said that she 
was just dying to waltz. 

So, at 10 o’clock of the night, she and a snaky gentle- 
man stood at the threshold of the entrance of a certain 
opera house in New Orleans. 

‘‘Isn’t it just splendid!” she exclaimed. 

“ Beautiful, indeed,” responded her escort. 

An avenue of palms before them formed a stately vista, 
which led into a hallway roofed with the glossy leaves of 
magnolia branches, where the atmosphere was pungent with 
fresh cedars. As they walked through the trees it seemed 
as if they were entering the fragrant woodlands of early 
summer. A hedge of slender shrubs and curious herbs of 
the tropics bordered and perfumed a channel, along which 
fiowed a beautiful river of throngs of lovely women, all 
bright and radiant with the glittering of jewels. In the 
impetuous waves of that stream, the overhead clusters of 
colored lights shone again; there were dazzling reflections 
from diamonds, emeralds and rubies; precious stones were 
tastefully interwoven in the hair, and their facets gleamed 
from snowy breasts and arms and from among the trim- 
mings and drapingsof the gown,— old family gems, most 
of them, from royal France. 


154 


THE MADONHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN". 


Those Creole jewels,” said Greta, make me think 
of the lights on boats at night along a river.” 

‘^Or fire-flies twinkling over a meadow on a July 
night,” said Meeks. 

Then the two climbed a stairway under hanging loops 
of evergreen and scarlet berries. Greta’s hands lightly 
touched the wide balustrade, along which elaborate 
wreaths traced an intricate Arabesque, until, at the top, 
she disappeared. 

When the great clocks in the city towers rang out the 
hour of eleven, the proudest and fairest in the Southern 
metropolis had gathered to the ball. Overhead were crys- 
tal lights whose brilliance was tempered by red silk skill- 
fully arranged, so that they shown like red fire upon the 
sea of dancers ebbing and flowing beneath. That heav- 
ing, tossing, seething mass, with its waves of ruddy tinge, 
faintly called up a far-off picture, where, between feathery 
Egyptian palms and golden Arabian deserts, rolls another 
red sea. 

Dense green foliage encircled the ball-room. Through 
this greenery and half hidden by it, brazen monsters were 
peeping; the seductive white loveliness of nereids gleamed 
through leafy bowers; all the ignoble army of satyrs were 
there ; but satyrs and nymphs paused in their lecherous 
play long enough to leer and mock at dancers, who, 
less fortunate than they, were only mortal. There was 
a grotto of pink light at the head of the ball-room ; over 
its arches were letters made of red and yellow roses, each 
of which was luminous with imbedded electricity; the 


FAIRIES OF THE CARNIVAL BALL. 


155 


letters formed cabalistic words — a spell doubtless, whose 
magic bewitched many a heart before the ball was over; 
many a heart is lost and wandering still among those 
ferns and palms and broad-leaved latanier thickets, listen- 
ing to fountains which played like those in the Sultan’s 
gardens at Stamboul. 

As the ocean surf tumbles upon the sandy beach, and 
recedes and again advances, so the tide of dancers, in 
undulations of satins, silks, cloudy laces showered with 
jewels or softened with pearls, broke in an eddy of trailing 
robes and fairy foam of lace, and gathered and flew onward 
again about the circular shore of the great ball-room. 
Like the white caps on ocean waves were the glossy white 
shoulders, the ivorine loveliness of jeweled throats, and 
white flowers in the hair. Over all tlie crimson light, like 
the sea in a red gold sunset. 

The magician who ruled these deeps was black-bearded 
Eomeo Accursi, quondam orchestra leader at*Monte Carlo. 
He stood on a cliff which overlooked the surging of the 
billows. At times, as if he were Neptune and weaving a 
spell, he held his violin trident for a moment in silence ; 
then, suddenly, .vith a plunge, burst into one of those 
rapturous dance tunes, which, heard that night, were 
never forgotten. Waving his bow at the drummers, stir- 
ring up the basses; turning impetuously on the other 
stringed instruments, stamping, facing about with a 
pirouette and dashing his bow down on his own fiddle, the 
clear twanging of the master’s violin would rise above the 
rest like the charmed music of the Pied Piper of Hamlin. 


156 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


The entire orchestra swayed as one man into the measure, 
while the music flowed tumultuously, halted, tore along 
or languished under the magic of that bewitched violin. 
The chief sorcerer danced, merry children danced, 
delighted lovers danced, grave old grandfathers danced, 
marble nymphs and bronze ogres swayed rhythmically 
among the palm trees; the very lights winked in time, 
everbody and everything must waltz or gallop as if beside 
themselves at the play of that inexorable' pied piper, until 
the dance, closing with an abrupt clang, left the enchanter 
capering out of sight, and the pulsing human sea breaking 
like the surf. 

How very beautiful !” exclaimed Warren, who until 
now has been submerged in the deluge that has drowned 
the city. Cast up by some wave, he stood on the beach in 
a grove of palms with a young Creole beauty on his arm. 
Her brilliant brown eyes and dark hair prettily contrasted 
with her creamy satin robe. The two had just been 
waltzing, and had paused to breathe. 

‘‘I have seen nothing like it before, except perhaps on 
the stage, in Brrninie’s pink ball-room,^^ replied Miss 
Ardennes, ‘^but then this is my first year out.” 

^^It seems to me,” said Warren, ‘‘ that in extent and 
grandeur your carnival surpasses everything of its kind 
elsewhere, either in Europe or here. As far as my own 
observation goes the carnivals on the Corso of Rome and 
the canals of Venice are tame compared to yours.” 

‘‘American ingenuity and wealth, with French taste, 
are a happy combination; ” was the smiling acknowledg- 


FAIRIES OF THE CARHIVAL BALL. 


157 


ment of the Creole. Then she asked, '^Do you like to 
study faces?” 

^^Bostonians love all science,” rejoined that citizen. 

^^No? Observe that old gentleman, then, and the 
young lady with him. She was out of humor a while ago. 
Why does her face brighten so with smiles when the so 
very old gentleman addresses her ?” 

It was a couple a little ways off, and they were very 
tender, yet the simple affection of the young creature 
was unlike that of a filial granddaughter or a niece. 

^‘It is that which makes the world go round, ” said 
Warren. 

In love? That artless girl? And that gouty, rouged, 
wicked-looking old sinner? Impossible !” 

But his name,” said Warren, ‘^is Dives,” and they 
looked on the picture of an unsullied virgin about to min- 
ister to the only wants of the aged, rouged, wicked, but 
rich man. And riches cover a multitude of sins. There- 
fore a sentiment flamed in the charitable girl, which had 
burned up the fresh flowers of Tom, Dick, and Harry. 
They had all courted her, and all had been engaged to her, 
sometimes two or three at a time, — so loving was she. But 
she never knew how high the tide of affection could rise, 
nor how devoted and self-sacrificing a Christian girl could 
be, until she met this old heathen. 

"^Hear the young missionary,” said Miss Ardennes. 

Willie dear,” said the maiden patting him playfully 
on his wrinkled cheek, ^‘I want to have a sweet little talk 
with you all alone, — in the ilex'- quadrille.” Willie leered, 


158 THE Madonna of pass Christian. 

and the two lovers walked off, leaving Dives" grandchil- 
dren, who stood near, green with envy. But had a cer- 
tain ballet dancer only seen her recreant lover! 

"'Sweet artless creature ! "" exclaimed Miss Ardennes, 
as they turned to watch the waltzers. Now there is an- 
other couple which has excited my curiosity ; do you see 
that tall gentleman spiniiing lightly around, agile as a 
hawk over a dove-cot ; you can not see his partner, but 
his own head projects above the surrounding crowd — now 
it turns and approaches — he has a peculiar enlarged jaw. 
It struck me as being like those pictures we have seen 
of a rattlesnake just ready to strike, or like Rev. Dr. Tal- 
mage for instance?"" 

“No — yes — now I do see something resembling the 
Rev. Dr. Talmage dancing,'" assented Warren. 

“ Please observe his partner when she emerges from 
that eclipse, and tell me what you think of the two. Did 
you ever hear of a snake’s charming a human being?"" 

“You’ve read of the case of Eve, I suppose?” 

“ Some think that drawn from the imagination of the 
reporter of the event. I want an instance of a more 
modern serpent.” 

I remember an anecdote of the kind. It occurred 
somewhere in Missouri. Shall I tell it?” 

“Do. I like tales concerning, equatorial Africa, Mis- 
souri, and so forth.” 

"‘Once upon a time,” began Warren, ""there was a 
little girl, fourteen years old, who lived in the country of 
Missouri. She was a good little girl — as far as they knew 


FAIRIES OF THE CARNIVAL BALL. 


159 


— and her father, a farmer, became worried when he saw 
her health declining without any good reason. She 
wasted away, and there was a far-off look in her eyes, and 
almost every day she would walk to a thick grove alone, 
and stay there for hours. Now the natural inference from 
that would ordinarily be that she had a lover there. But 
the approaches to the grove were over bare fields, and any 
young man who came that way would have been detected. 
So one day the father secretly followed her. Imagine his 
horror, as he stood hiding behind a tree, to see a large and 
very handsome black snake, with skin as glossy as any gen- 
tleman’s broadcloth, crawl up to her from some under-brush 
with every mark of affection. He gently twined abound 
her as if in amorous caresses, and she gave little laughs as 
if pleased. She would put cake and candy in her mouth, 
and the snake would lift up its head and bite and eat, and 
as they so did, the two would seem to kiss. 

“ Well, the next day, somewhat before the usual hour 
for the rendezvous, the girl was decoyed by her mother up 
into the garret and put to work there and locked up. 
Meanwhile the father, a very short man, threw over him- 
self a dress and hood of his tall daughter’s, and went to 
the woods where the assignation took place. The lover 
came wriggling up to greet the closely-hooded maiden, 
when a shot from a cocked pistol put an end to his court- 
ship. Then the girl was allowed to go to those woods. 
When she saw the dead body of her seducer lying in the 
grass, bloody and mangled, the shock which they hoped 
would cure, killed, and she died in a fit.” 


160 


THE MADOKHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


that really true, Mr. Warren?^' 

Every ‘side-show’ of a menagarie, and most dime 
museums, tell us how snakes can be made pets; from pet- 
ting, by a very natural transition in one who had no 
human beau, this young girl learned to love. The story 
is therefore not impossible, and it was related to me by a 
Harvard professor.” 

“It does not seem so strange after all,” said Miss Ar- 
dennes, thoughtfully, “ when I recall what happened once 
to my uncle. He was walking out in the country, and 
came to a gulch where the road made a sudden bend be- 
tween two steep banks. He turned the sharp corner and 
stopped — with sudden horror; before him were two jeweled 
eyes which glared into his own dilating pupils, and made 
him dumb and nerveless, while in sharp contrast with the 
rural quiet came that startling, dreadful ‘whirr!’ which 
told him that he had met the deadliest reptile on earth. In 
the first instant he stood stock-still — as if in the clutch of 
nightmare. But he struggled and made a superhuman 
effort, overcame the fainting numbness, and stepped back, 
out of reach of its mortal spring. Then he returned the 
stare, with compound interest; the reptile shook with rage 
and its little circles of flame glowed with all their terror. 
But uncle’s brave eyes were terrible also, and the sparks of 
fire before him gradually blinked dull and grew sheepish. 
Uncle was then young and handsome, was noted for the 
strength and beauty of his eyes and a mysterious fascination 
which seemed to be exerted by him upon females. Very 
much as the angry glances from a woman’s black eyes 


FAIRIES OF THE CARNIVAL BALL. 


161 


may shortly change to love-light, so, from the prostrate 
personage in the road, there awakened a look not very dis- 
similar from that which might have shone from the en- 
chantress Medea when she saw Jason and loved him. Act- 
ually the creature seemed to smile. From the little ones 
squirming about her, he knew her to be a lady rattlesnake; 
and as she undid her coils and twisted away to a secret 
retreat in the woods all daisies and daffodils, she turned her 
head backwards at him, like those naughty flirts who so 
signify, ^follow me.^^^ 

Truth is very much stranger than fiction, sometimes,” 
remarked Warren, solemnly. 

^^Now let us suppose that Mr. Fang-jaw there, who 
undulates in dancing, is a metamorphosed serpent, who 
has charmed his partner,” said Miss Ardennes. ^^When 
you catch a glimpse of her, you will feel like rescuing her 
from the fascination which she mistakes for true love. So 
let us chase them. ” 

Then Northerner and Southerner embraced fraternally 
and circled away in the dreamy languor of a waltz, until 
they were lost in the shifting labyrinth. There was a more 
bewildering labyrinth than the one of Crete, under the 
fretted ceiling, of the Opera House that night. In the 
structure of Minos, the walls did not shift and vary and 
change. Tireless pursuit would bring a persistent hunts- 
man, like Theseus, to the Minotaur at last. Some impulse, 
whose character he could not have analyzed, and whose 
origin he could not have divined, something — he knew not 
what — drove Warren to seek the undulating snaky gen- 


162 


THE MADONNA OP PASS CHRISTIAN. 


tlemaii, whose serpentine evolutions he tracked by the 
upraised head through the maze of dancers. But so far 
as his purpose was concerned, he waltzed with Miss 
Ardennes long unsuccessfully. As he whirled he could 
discern in the labyrinth that Minotaur head just a little 
distance away, apparently ; and he would fancy that a 
clear avenue lay open before him. Winding on, this ave- 
nue would suddenly close up with an impenetrable press, 
a cul de sac in the human edifice, and the serpent and his 
prey would writhe and wriggle away to the opposite quar- 
ter of the compass. 

But, as the evergreen mottoes over school-room black- 
boards tell us, ^^perseverance always conquers.” Often 
some invisible traceless cause will create an unexpected 
vacuum in the midst of the densest ball-room throng. And 
now, all at once, something swept the carnival masses 
aside, this way and that, as the Red Sea waters parted 
before the Israelites. Then down the open gulf like 
Pharaoh, toward Warren and his partner, came the Mino- 
taur, black, undulating, squirming, with a white-robed, 
golden-haired young creature in his grasp. Then the 
waters of the Red Sea closed about them, came upon 
them again, and shut them in like a walj ; and the two 
couplfes were revolving around a common centre, side by 
side, brushing each other, hedged in by a press through 
which they could not break. 

In the first brief instant of their encounter, it was the 
Minotaur’s visage which turned toward Warren. 

Handsome, but sinister was his unspoken verdict ; 
^^the countenance of an evil being.” 


FAIRIES OF THE CARNIVAL BALL. 


163 


Then the subject of their dissection rotated; the 
Minotaur’s back veered toward Warren, and the face of the 
Athenian maiden, its prey, looked into his. 

AVhy that slight start in your partner. Miss Arden- 
nes? The imperturbability of your Boston friend is pro- 
verbial. What, then, thrilled that tranquil gentleman 
like an electric shock, or, perhaps, like the touch of a 
spirit hand ? 

She does not observe. 

The face that looked into his was that of the Ma- 
donna of Pass Christian. There she was, no longer a phan- 
tasy, but in all the glow of life — a breathing, pulsing 
reality. The Protean form that appeared to him in his 
dream in the little Catholic church where his lost Alice, 
like a dissolving view, had faded into this one, this even 
sweeter image which rose in her place in that greenwood, 
this was the same. 

How perfect seemed her outer loveliness ! 

A pure white forehead, where waves of yellow hair 
clung caressingly; fair round cheeks, ripe, ruddy lips and a 
moulded chin which harmonized with their expression, — 
altogether a divine sculpture more faultless than the Venus 
de Medici. From the sweet Madonna face a dim, strange 
lustre seemed to emanate, while drooping lashes cast tender 
shades of grey upon the eyes, which she seemed scarcely 
daring to raise. This dancer’s head was bowed, shy as a 
violet; and this half concealment, or reserving of its 
beauty, captivated the beholder even more. Her finely 
modeled throat was set off by a necklet of pearls, and 
these pure white gems embraced also her rounded arms. 


164 


THE MADONJs^A OF PASS CHKISTIAH. 


It chanced that when Warren^seyea first rested on hers 
they spoke his unfavorable comment upon the coarse 
earthliness of the Minotaur. They seemed to question 
llie quality of this young woman who allied herself with 
grossness, though perhaps temporarily. 

So their expression beamed not with admiration. What 
her eyes beheld, with a darting sense that this stranger 
secretly weighed her, was a half contemptuous, downward 
look on her, as if she were a coarse inferior. Vaguely 
she felt for the first time that her companion might not 
be all in all, while this other, who examined her as a 
zoological specimen of a lower order, might be of a region 
outside and above hers. The seer of the vision gazed on 
her indeed, with a peculiar air of recognition, but it was 
another, — another, who for a moment rose from the dead, 
whom he saw again. * Only his thoughts of the previous 
instant, suddenly frozen, did the fair dancer read through 
the windows of his soul. 

Again the Ked Sea opened out, and the Egyptians and 
the children of Israel were separated ; the one engulfed in 
many waters, while Warren and his partner escaped be- 
yond the limits of the mad whirlpool, to the dry land of 
the palm tree and the wood nymphs. Here a refreshing 
breeze from the street awaited them, and here also, alas ! 
Miss Ardennes^ mother, with : 

Corinne, we must go home now.” 

0 Mamma !” etc., etc. 

But what protests or pleas avail with a woman who 
has made up her mind? Corinne must go. 


FAIRIES OF THE CARNIVAL BALL. 


165 


We regret that your plans are changed, and that you 
will not return through Pass Christian/^ said Mrs. 
Ardennes to Mr. Warren. 

My time here is too short/’ said that gentleman. 
"‘Can you not increase it? Think how we shall miss 
your violin at our villa. We would not be deprived of a 
visit from Orpheus and his lyre without weighty cause.” 

‘‘ My lyre is not more sorry than Orpheus himself 
would he, were he here and about to leave for Hades,” 
said he; I should have enjoyed a visit greatly, and my 
violin finds your daughter’s piano a charming companion. 
Indeed I am almost breaking a promise to return by that 
route which I made to a friend at the Mexican Gulf. 
But, on second thoughts, it will be time for me to con- 
tinue north when I have finished my plantation business. 
So here, we must say goodbye.” 

^^ISTot ^adieu,’ then,” said the ladies, ^^but only au 
revoir ! ” 

revoir! ” he answered. 

And so they parted. 

For a moment after the Ardennes had gone, Warren 
stood alone. That philosopher’s meditation was busy with 
this fragment of the following very unphilosophical song: — 

“ The air was dreamy with flowers, the room was lovely with light, 
The soft waltz tunes were floating afar in the warm June night; 

And she danced with one and another, she was far too lovely to care, 
And she never look’d as she pass’d him by, alone in the window there. 
Ahl never to know, never to know.” 

Very foolish, sentimental words for so profound a savant 
to utter! But who never, never, has been guilty of senti- 


166 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


mental nonsense? Let him that is without sin amongst 
you cast the first stone. 

In the course of the ball Warren asked friends there 
concerning the fair stranger, but unavailingly. She was 
unknown. Then he turned again to gayety. 

But a white beauty now filled his mental vision, and 
his material environment must conform to the illusion. 
Thereafter he saw only the pure white sculptured forms of 
young ladies, in continuous, fiuent, free motion, tossing 
their white rose crowned heads as they fioated through the 
sweet perfumes to the silver trumpet notes. Above them 
rose pure garlanded pillars, up to the immense, glistening 
white roof, their fluted capitals coldly shining. The lights 
somehow had been changed, until the former rosy hue was 
now all white as drifted snow. Frosty laces hung the walls 
and window embrasures ; the polished floor under the dazzling 
lights gleamed like ice, and crossing its slippery surface 
were gliding white robes with snowy arms and shoulders; 
while lovely waltzes throbbed with an undertone of inex- 
pressible longing — hungering as lost Arctic explorers in 
the desolation of the frigid zone. No color seemed left 
anywhere; all was pure, stalely and white, like a frozen 
ocean. 

The music, rich and festal, gradually leaving the light 
and trivial, seemed at length to thrill with a grand, pas- 
sionate sadness, as if it were piping for the dance of human 
life and this ball were merely an allegory of life’s wealth 
and earthly glories, with its happy childhood, golden 
youth and brilliant manhood revolving onward in rotat- 


FAIRIES OF THE CARNIVAL BALL. 


167 


ing ages after ages, drawn to follow One more relentless 
than even that Pied Piper of Hamlin — hurried on toward 
the abyss of shadows which swallows all humanity at last. 

Under the sweet imperial call of music he drifts back 
into the beauty and the light of the sea of snowy draper- 
ies. The orchestra leads more rapidly, the dancers follow 
more recklessly, cheeks flush and eyes sparkle, while Time 
flies swiftly by, mocking and laughing as he goes, and 
swinging his cruel scythe, and those lilies — the pale-hued 
hours — are fast mown now, into a swath where life wilts 
quickly. He dances with one and another, the gayest, 
queenliest and loveliest there, and, even after he vanishes 
from the scenes, life, with its merry whirl, goes on, until 
pale dawn, like death, breaks in upon it all, and the great 
white sea is stilled. 


CHAPTER XIL 


GABRIEL BLOWS HIS TRUMPET IN THE MORNING. 

“ And the violins are silent 
That so sweetly played for dancing ; 

And the lanterns are extinguished 
That with gorgeous might illumined 
All the motley troop of maskers — 

And to-morrow comes Ash Wednesday. 

I will draw upon thy forehead 
Then an ashen cross, and murmur : 

Woman, thou art dust — remember ! ” 

He who comes from the country to New Orleans on the 
very morning of the carnival and who finds any place to 
lay his head less primitive than the proverbial foxes^ holes 
or the birds-of-the-air nests, possesses good luck. Warren, 
having just arrived from Pass Christian, had the effront- 
ery, a few hours before the Mardi Gras parades, to apply 
for a room at the St. Charles Hotel. Such impudence 
carried with it the assurance of success, and conquered. 
A plethoric Englishman had just vacated for the open 
streets a diminutive inside chamber under the roof ; it 
was windowless and stuffy, and he swore by St. George 
and the dragon and all other British gods, that his 
blooming death” would ensue if he remained any longer 
‘"up in that bloody coffin.” So the latter, as a great 
favor, was conferred on Warren, and he used it for chang- 
ing his clothes and attiring himself in ball costume. But 

168 


GABRIEL BLOWS HIS TRUMPET. 


169 


when, after the ball, he thought of returning and sleeping 
there, the coffin was not attractive. 

He had come to Louisiana partly to lease a plantation 
recently purchased. It lay on the banks of the Mississippi, 
some three hours^ ride by rail from Hew Orleans. To 
avoid the disagreeable crush of the departing thousands 
when they should awake on Ash Wednesday, he had 
planned to leave for his estate by the very first train from 
the city when the great ball had ended. 

And now the dancing was over, and it was not long 
before the early morning train would start. Rather than 
spend the brief interval sweltering nervously in an uncom- 
fortably close room, Warren determined not to go to bed 
at all, but to make a night of it along with people wiio do 
that at the close of three hundred and sixty-five days in 
the year. 

He strolled along Canal street, where the restless city, 
like a human being, was tumbling and tossing still in its 
uneasy efforts to sleep. The saloons were turning out 
their lamps and the last brawling drunkards. Occasion- 
ally a policeman would sound his club, and occasionally 
he would carefully refrain from doing so and go around 
the corner as though a fray were imminent. Then stray 
vehicles would rattle along and stray people would burst 
into the gathering sileuce, as if Hew Orleans dropped 
off to sleep, like many of its citizens — by nervous fits 
and starts. After such a turning over on its side, so to 
speak, it would doze quietly for a moment ; then a street 
car would rumble by and it would wake up again with 


170 


THE MADOI^IfA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


four or five carriages clattering past. The same human 
wakefulness governed certain apparitions which sprung 
occasionally from the world of liquid spirits ; when War- 
ren saw one reeling form stagger against a lamp-post, 
another reeling collection of spirits would soon stagger 
elsewhere on its crooked way. 

He turned into the Creole quarter down Chartres street 
where the flickering sparks of company were almost all 
expired, and where there were fewer signs of waking life, 
or lighted windows, or of any other movement, belated 
wayfarers or even roving footpads. Then he walked along 
the intersecting St. Louis street to the river. But there 
was little encouragement there. The silent wharves were 
dreary, the sugar warehouses on the banks were shrouded 
in funeral crape; there was awe in the black, turbid rush 
of the river, and from deep down in the water came 
reflections of light, as if the fishy ghosts of drowned 
suicides were now holding their carnival there. The evil 
river, with its nightmare tremor, was as sleepless under the 
wild clouds tumbling over it as a gnawing conscience in 
a tossed-up bed, and the shadow of some great anxiety or 
some impending crime seemed to lie heavily on its troubled 
waters. 

Back on Canal street, Warren shortly after reached a 
great block of buildings which, on the preceding even- 
ing, were brilliantly illuminated and covered with gleeful, 
shouting spectators. G-rim and black were they now, 
and most dead and doleful, with the bright, eager 
faces all faded away, the lights turned out, and the 


GABRIEL BLOWS HIS TRUMPET. 


171 


benches and seats all empty. There was a narrow, dull 
alley leading out of their midst, with a dim lantern over 
it, which made the inky blackness beyond like a dismal 
cavern. Warren stood there for a moment outside its 
entrance in the shadow cast by the lantern overhead, and 
looked into the void beyond ; it was not very unlike one of 
those mammoth graves dug near New Orleans in times of 
epidemic for multitudes of Yellow Fever dead. Nothing 
was discernible through its space except a still dimmer lan- 
fern further on, hung out by a spectral arm like a faint 
corpse-candle. As Warren looked down into this gloomy 
vault, so suggestive of winding-sheets and coffins, he became 
aware that the place was haunted ; a stealthy head peered 
furtively from a doorway a few yards before him, on aline 
between the two blear-eyed lanterns. Thinking it a 
watchman’s, and curious for a moment’s chat, he walked 
up to where he had seen the head, to find a man standing 
bolt upright, pressing back within the doorway^s shadow, 
seemingly bent, like Warren, in watching the watchman. 
Silent as the ghostly hour, Warren eyed this gentleman 
from head to foot as if that shapeless, shadow-darkened 
figure exerted some snaky fascination ; then, without 
exchange of greeting, the two night-walkers parted, mutu- 
ally suspicious. 

As the February winds carried from the shaking 
church steeples the strokes of four, Warren passed this 
alley again, having retraced his steps with some indefinite 
purpose of defying the sombre visions of the night. And 
he had occasion to remember afterward that a man came 


172 


THE MADOi^NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


running out from there, abruptly emerging like a diver 
from the bottom of the sea ; that when the flying shadow 
saw Warren it nimbly swerved aside like certain undulat- 
ing animals when they try to avoid the heel of Adam’s 
descendants, and that by the glimmer of a street lamp on 
the curb of the sidewalk it very much resembled the lan- 
tern-jawed partner of the white beauty at the grand ball. 

The stars grew pale as Warren turned down St. Charles 
street, one hour later. The great hotel rose there, a 
vague black mass now, with little shape or form. Passing 
it briskly, he entered a portion of the street where hardly 
a footfall broke the silence. Its murky length was like 
the dreariness of a deserted graveyard in very early morn- 
ing, and here a broken-down float of the carnival proces- 
sion was lying, with all its life and brightness gone — stark 
and livid as a corpse. It was at the corner of Jnlia and 
St. Charles, and when he had passed this symbol of death 
he seemed to have entered its world and to have passed 
beyond the borders of the living entirely. The dying 
noises everywhere had become less frequent until here 
they were entirely still. The feverish town was enjoying 
a brief interval of repose. All busy sounds were hushed, 
and the stillness was unbroken save by those bells in the 
upper air of the church towers as they struck flve, mark- 
ing the progress, stealthy and sure, of that hoary old trav- 
eler whose scythe, while a city slumbers, neither tarries 
nor sleeps. As the spreading ripples of their clear vibra- 
tion like the circles from the tiniest pebble dropped into 
a shoreless lake, went opening out, for ever and ever after- 


GABRIEL BLOWS HIS TRUMPET. 


173 


wards widening toward the eternal shore, Warren^s sense 
of loneliness was as profound as the depths of their waters. 

Suddenly, from the windows of some fine old mansion 
all buried in shadow, a desolate song broke into the gloom, 
as if struck out of the singer by that last stroke of the 
hand of time. It was a girPs voice, clear and distinct as 
the tower bells : 

“ She came to the winow one moment, 

She gazed afar in the night, 

She was dazed with too much dancing, 

Or dazzled with too much light ; 

So he never moved from the shadow, 

So he found no word to speak. 

And he never saw, as she turned away, 

The tear on her bright young cheek. 

Ah ! Never to know, never to know. 

The heart that we love is breaking.’’ 

Then it stopped, the house was still, and Warren was 
again alone. 

Probably it is some one late home from the ball,^^ 
thought he, ^^or some one who has wakened from a 
dream and longs for light and day."'^ 

The dead of night was passing. He was very near the 
Lee Circle, and this song seemed to lift like a burden from 
some troubled heart and cast itself before the rising image 
of the Confederate General, as if it would have him bear 
it away from earth. Warren knew that what this girl had 
woven into the desolation of the night — like light traveling 
to us from a star extinguished years ago — was part of the 
love-song which had sprung up in his memory at the ball 
as he wistfully looked at a beautiful stranger there, ihose 


174 


THE MADONNA OE PASS CHRISTIAN. 


despairing wanderers in the shades across the Acheron 
seemed to have impressed their hopeless longing into the 
words of this fair and unhappy singer. Her sweet sadness 
was echoed by a wakened unrest and unease in Warren^s 
own breast, an unease like the waking restlessness of one 
who in his midnight chamber listens hour by hour to the 
pitiless ticking of the clock. 

Was there then some unearthly, subtile communica- 
tion between hearts otherwise impassibly far apart, but 
whose strings vibrated responsive to each other^s music? 
Life’s pathway is plain in its coarser places, but the shad- 
ows of its overhanging mysteries deepen as the day declines, 
and thicken like a forest, as the light of life penetrates 
their further recesses. Just then the wind blew- as cool 
and chill as if a specter had swept by. 

‘^Nonsense,” said Warren, shuddering a little either 
at the cold or at the uncanny experience. Then he turned 
abruptly and retraced his steps along St. Charles street 
toward his hotel. 

Yet, after all,” said he, considering, there is noth- 
ing remarkable in this example of phenomenan familiar 
to every student of the human intellect. The love-song 
just heard is pretty and full of ball-room associations. 
Consequently it would occur to many a girl dancer during 
the night just past. If, in addition, her fancy was mo- 
mentarily captivated by the glance or appearance of some 
handsome stranger whom she would have liked to meet, 
whom she never hoped to see again, and whose image had 
for her, therefore, that transitory and romantic endear- 


GABRIEL BLOWS HIS TRUMPET. 175 

merit which attaches to an irretrievable loss, — the song 
would be most likely to spring to her lips. Such ephemeral 
disappointments must have occurred more than once at 
such a time and among so many thousands. The law of 
the ^ association of ideas ^ accounts for it all.” And so the 
deliberate reasoner put aside romance and actively walked 
on. But a second thought persistently sprung up in his 
way in front of him. 

^‘Who was she, anyhow? Was he never to know?” 

He wandered back toward Canal street and beyond it 
again, like him who in the time of Job went to and fro 
upon the earth; nothing was awake on the streets except, 
now and then, two observant policemen at a corner, watch- 
ing and talking as of him suspiciously; through an inter- 
minable length of streets he came upon the St. Louis Cathe- 
dral to hear the low whispers of the old Spanish Law Courts, 
telling how many wretched plaintiffs and defendants they 
kept awake that night, and the dragging small hours 
seemed to take on a heavier burden when they passed those 
sombre enclosures, and the miserable shades of anxious 
suitors, though dead and gone, seemed forced to haunt 
them still. How dull and wretched was all the world now! 
When the sweet girlish voice had died away, the city’s deso- 
lation had gathered around him and hugged him close and 
weighed him down with fourfold heaviness. It seemed 
as though something had died within him with the expiring 
of her song, and that the corpse of some vague hope lay with- 
in his breast, awaiting burial. So the cold, repellent, unlit 
buildings about him loomed up their dead walls as if they 


176 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


were those of a sepulcher all ready for the funeral. In 
the quiet gloom on his way back to Canal street he could 
hear the echo of a distant footfall two blocks away. 

Harkl 

The loud, deep, expostulating ring of an alarm bell ! 
Then the discordant tolling of other bells in different 
quarters of the city ; than a bright, vivid glare streaming 
up toward a crimson dome that arched in the sky over- 
head. Clatter began on every side, alleys and by-ways 
broke into pandemonium, and noises that had lurked all 
night long, now rushed howling to join the menagerie of 
wild beasts which seemed to have broken loose on Canal. 
Warren hurried on and saw the second disturber of the 
night’s peace, and truly it was no soft, maiden voice this 
time. 

Twelve compactly built, four-story brick stores, ex- 
tending on the lower side of Canal, from Bourbon to 
Koyal, forming one solid block known as the Touro Row, 
had, from some unknown cause, burst out ablaze. Iron 
shutters tightly barred its windows, concealing and guard- 
ing the fire which, having been ignited, had eaten its way 
through one interior gallery after another, unseen and 
unsuspected from without. Thus it fed and grew and 
waxed strong, until, in the last of the small hours of the 
night, sleepers were abruptly shocked awake by an awful 
fire giant that sprang through roofs into the open air, 
and upon them. Warren saw the upper floor of this 
block all flaming, and men battering at the iron shutters 
and iron doors near the ground to try to insert the nozzles 


OABRIKL BLOWS HIS TRUMPET. 177 

of the engine hose. The iron seemed to have been ex- 
panded and partly welded by the heat from within, for it 
resisted the stoutest attacks. Meanwhile the roof was 
enveloped in blaze ; long, fiery tongues shot out, and 
licked up one outlying building after another. Fanning 
itself by its own draft, the energetic, self-supporting ter- 
ror advanced and jumped across intervening gaps, as if it 
were some Cyclopean demon of the Mardi Gras which had 
not yet been honored with a celebration and was now 
avenging his slight upon the trembling city. 

Deriding the puny efforts to restrain him, New Orleans 
itself was threatened with ascension in flame and smoke, 
as the suitable ending of the grandest carnival ever 
known. Crackling and roaring, wilder and more cruel, 
the skirmishing flames which had attacked outside tene- 
ments, twisted up like fire snakes to join strength with 
the raging, maddened, screeching maelstrom of fire at 
the vortex. Brick walls lost cohesion, crumbled and fell, 
shrieking as they struck, like a wounded human being. 
As they tumbled outwardly, they clogged the neighbor- 
ing streets with their ruin, and hindered the approach of 
firemen. The fallen walls left crevices through which 
Warren saw rooms and passages redhot, around which 
roared a bright, high blaze, so greedy that it seemed to 
have swallowed up the very smoke. Strangely mingled 
throngs gathered in the streets around, and in the glaring 
light their picturesqueness stood out in bold relief. 
Blanched faces of countrymen hastily aroused from com- 
fortable beds in menaced lodgings near by, contrasted with 


178 


THE MADON^NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


red faces of city topers who had never gone to bed at all. 
Scared tenants of humble homes, which the pitiless fire 
had scowled upon, clasped in their arms their precious 
household goods. Ladies and gentlemen in full dress, 
on their late way home from some night-long ball, 
stood by the side of boot-blacks, beggars, and street-arabs. 
Pale priests jostled painted women ; gaily costumed mas- 
queraders with weary eyelids — relics of the old day — 
mingled with early morning marketmen — first signs of 
the new. Tinted with the crimson glow from the crum- 
bling ruins, the whole strange audience was also bathed in 
lurid illumination from the incessant storm of burning 
flakes which flew over their heads like fiery snow. Mas- 
queraders were so unnaturally solemn, their gaudy dress 
of yesterday was now so out of place and ghastly, the 
prevailing pale, frightened look of awe and fear was so 
general, that the pallid gathering of livid forms suggested 
that the end of the world had come at last, and that the 
dead carnival also was having, with the rest, its own fear- 
ful resurrection. 

9 

Warren looked at his watch. 

Train time ! said he, with a sigh of relief. When 
from this dream I awake in some realm of reality to find 
that all this world was but the vision of a night, I trust 
that this phantasm of flame may not prove to be a pro- 
phetic symbol of the Judgment Day, but only a nightmare 
which belies our happy future reunion and greeting. May 
the day soon break and the shadows flee away.” 

He turned back into St. Charles, obtained his satchel 


GABRIEL BLOWS HIS TRUMPET. 


179 


at the hotel, and walked swiftly through cross streets to 
the depot of the Mississippi Valley route. The gas-lamps 
were growing pale with the knowledge of coming day ; 
working-men, factory girls and housemaids straggled in 
the streets, and by degrees, faster and faster, the morning 
and sunrise came. 

He took his seat in the north-bound train. With the 
usual tardiness of important thoughts, it then flashed 
across him that the dark, sullen alley where he had seen 
the dusky head in the doorway and met the flying shadow, 
led into the heart of the buildings which were subsequently 
burned. Speeding north, away out of the troubled city, 
and along the bright river, the jaded wanderer, oppressed 
and burdened by the night’s events, was surrounded by 
the beauties of opening day, the songs of birds, and the 
sweet and pleasant air of the woods and flelds — the min- 
istering angels which the Creator sends to-day to those 
who truly behold them. 


CHAPTER XIJI. 


A HAUNTED OAK. 

Miss Margareta Lind, at Pass Christian, was restless. 
That precious lover, whose affectionate heart was great 
enough to enshrine Greta and Fleurette together, now 
seemed to have enfolded a third female idol within its 
capacious clasp, and her name was Mrs. Rakeless. It was 
evening, and that afternoon the lover had kissed Greta 
good-bye, saying, "^Be a good girl, deary, and donH flirt.’" 
Then he had gone, carefully engaging the good girl to 
read the novel, ‘^One False Step,"" which he had thought- 
fully placed in her hands, and which the girl was now 
dutifully doing. 

The lover was away with Mrs. Rakeless at an indeflnite 
place known to Greta as Biloxi,"" for the alleged purpose 
of there meeting with Mr. Rakeless, and, under Meeks" 
advice, arranging the terms of a legal separation — some- 
thing which that gentleman knew well how to make. 
Supper was long past, and Greta lounged in the parlor 
with her enticing book. Her mother, with three com- 
panions, were near by at a card table playing euchre. 
Greta did not like cards, and when Greta ‘^did not like ""a 
thing, ^Uhat settled it"" — to use her expressive expression. 
Did she ^Mike"" a given duty? No; then shoot it,"" she 

would say. Did she like a given friend of her parents? 

180 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


181 


No, he was chump; and therefore, she added, her 
parents^ respected friend might ^^go soak his head.'^ Did 
she like whist? No, ‘^get out!^' Then, however much 
three whist players wanted a fourth to complete their set, 
they were obliged to get out. Did she like Meeks? You 
bet, body and soul!^^ — assuming that he was possessed of 
the latter. And Mr. Meeks was certainly possessed with 
something, although Mr. Rattler would have said his case 
was rather like those two who came out of the tombs, 
exceeding fierce, and afterwards caused a herd of swine to 
run violently down a steep place in the sea and perish in 
its waters. 

One whose mind is the vile den of evil passions roam- 
ing unchecked in baseness sometimes walks hand in hand 
with another — a sweetheart or wife — whose heart and life 
are pure. Greta and Meeks were engaged,” but if their 
earthly tabernacles had been suddenly dissolved, leaving 
soul revealed to soul, with no veil of fiesh between — one 
all fair as yet, the other darkly foul — they would have 
instinctively burst asunder. 

Greta,” her mother would say, after one of her 
daughter's selfish and fretful replies, your father 
would only break up and make you work and pray for 
your daily bread, you might become a very nice girl. As 
it is, you are, figuratively speaking, gouty and bloated, 
and ought to take nasty medicine. If you werenT so 
perfectly ‘ contrary,^ you wouldnT lavish your affections 
upon that Kansas City anomaly.” 

Greta seemed now fatigued with reading, having, in 


182 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the course of an hour, gone over an entire page. ‘^Gone 
over describes it ; her eyes had merely followed the 
printed characters from the first line to the last. Of its 
suggestions and evil counsels she had absorbed no more 
than if the hieroglyphics were Chinese. But, since Simon 
had asked her, she devotedly went over the page again and 
then mechanically turned the leaf. Suddenly she became 
interested in a rug. It was a common thing, but the 
apple which Newton saw fall was also common, and the 
girl contemplated the rug with Newtonian abstraction. 
As if she had discovered another law of gravitation and 
would record her discovery for the benefit of the world, 
she opened her novel, flattened out a page with her hand 
and wrote: 

‘^Dear Simon! How I would like to be with you, old 
Boy:^^ 

Then she leaned her head on her elbow and sighed, and 
looked, as ever, downward; for her law was an attraction 
like that of gravitation, drew her toward the earth, and 
was of the earth, earthly. 

She rose and went to her room as if for a pen-knife, 
but really to blow off steam, and vent restlessness by drink- 
ing the soothing syrup of occupation. When she returned 
she again resolutely faced the novel — an exposition of the 
rites of Nature^s worship as they were practiced by the 
Greeks in Cyprus. But the philosophy of those brave old 
pagans, as expounded by the author, did not, as yet, 
strike a responsive thrill in Greta. Simonas hollow argu- 
ments, with their subtle mixture of truth and falsehood. 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


183 


which her uneducated judgment was unable to unravel, 
was the only philosophy that had any charms for her. So 
again the marginal note in the pure white border of the 
black-faced novel. 

^‘One sweet kiss and lots of love for Simon.” 

It should be observed that Greta, like some other 
writers of love-letters who have attained prominence at the 
bar by practicing the law of promises and their breach, 
talked hard business sense and wrote soft nonsense. 

^‘Old Sweetness forever and ever!” was inscribed on 
the next page. Till death us do part shall I call thee by 
that name! Till death us do part wilt thou cling only to 
me?” 

If Old Sweetness had been present to answer her ques- 
tion, he promptly would have said, Yes,” laying his 
venerable hand upon his faithful heart in solemn attesta- 
tion, — as sadly regardless as ever of the truth and Fleu- 
rette and Mrs. Rakeless. But that night the counsellor- 
at-law was clinging to business with his client. 

^^What is trumps, please?” asked one of the euchre 
players. 

Spades.” 

Thanks. My thoughts were wandering to a phan- 
tom ship.” 

'^The Flying Dutchman commanded by Captain Van- 
derdecken ? ” 

No. The Flying American commanded by Captain 
Dane — which haunts this coast.” 

You donT say. When does it turn up?” 


184 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


bobs up serenely to-night, — the last night of 

winter.” 

‘'Tell us about it, please?” 

“Once upon a time, a sea-captain murdered a Brazil- 
ian, and ran away with his wife and other valuable jewels. 
After he was done with the wife he killed her too, and, 
not to do things by halves, murdered all of his crew, 
except enough to get the jewels ashore in a skiff, and then, 
insatiable as Cain, burned his poor ship to death, and 
managed to have the four survivors of his crew die with 
Yellow Fever, after which, there being nothing more to 
kill except himself, he became’ converted and went to 
Heaven. He buried the plunder somewhere in these 
woods.” 

“Was it ever found?” 

“No. It is said that the phantom of a ship on fire 
will appear at some hour during every anniversary night 
until the lost treasure is found and returned to the proper 
heirs. A farmer lately became crazy searching for it. 
Would dig with a lantern at night. Said he was ‘ hunting 
for the grave of his kindred.’ Such love for one’s rela- 
tions proved his lunacy beyond doubt, so they caged him 
in an asylum.” 

“ The insane take curious freaks.” From this gener- 
alization the conversation drifted elsewhere, as it will when 
spades, hearts and diamonds (whether on cards or off) dis- 
tract the human mind. The reader of ‘One False Step,’ 
however, dropped hearts from consideration for the 
moment and riveted her attention on spades and phan- 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


185 


toms. When the legend was told her at New Orleans, she 
had determined to visit the Oak on the last of February, 
accompanied by Simon. The time had come, but Simon 
was gone to Biloxi. Don^t flirt,” were his last words, 
as he left with Mrs. Rakeless, his client. As no pity- 
ing gentleman had offered to escort her, her only compan- 
ion on the long, lonely way to the tree on this gruesome 
night would be, likely enough, a ghost — with whom Greta 
was not inclined to flirt. 

She returned to her novel, or, more correctly, to her 
pencil and its marginal annotations. 

Sad was our parting, and tender hours have gone by, 
love, with them. Still the same nook, and the same river 
of life!” 

(These silly utterances, charitable reader, are not drawn 
from the imagination of the historian. They were actu- 
ally written on the novel mentioned, and were found after 
it had been cast aside. A corpse, in general, may be very 
revolting, yet the most disgusting can be of deep interest 
to a medical student. Similarly, these scribblings, so 
foolish in themselves, yet have an interest for the student 
of human nature. They show, partly, the subtle putrefac- 
tion of a brain, the setting in of the mortification, which, 
if not soon amputated, ends in death.) . 

^^Love and many kisses for ” 

^‘Oh I for some ?” the blank being filled only by 

the imagination. Meeks’ skepticism and his books were 
doing the work. Greta, the river of life” of which you 
write, is fioating you out upon the dark ajnd unknown sea 
which rolls around the infatuated ! • 


186 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


^^Love and oceans of kisses for ” 

‘‘ Oh ! to think of it ; ah, to dream of it ; it fills my 
heart with joy." Perhaps a grammarian would parse ^^it" 
as personal, singular and objective, referring to Meeks 
understood and denoting a spasmodic encounter. 

Oh ! listen to my tale of woe ! " 

Tender, dear hours flew by, bearing love on the bed 
of their stream." 

^^Forget-me-not." 

Wonder if you miss me, Simon?" No, Greta, he 
has aimed and hit the bulPs-eye of your ' heart with per- 
fect accuracy. 

Simon; dear Simon; how I should like to see 
you !" 

‘‘Simon — Simon — where art thou ? " 

And how naturally, after thoughts of rendezvous with 
Meeks, did Greta think, with trepidation, of a certain 
other meeting. 

“M. Lind," she would then write, “prepare to meet 
thy God!" 

But, like a moth, would return to the candle : 

“Simon A. Meeks I DonT be angry with me, mother, 
for Fve not long to live." (Heart disease.) Vaporings 
sometimes are full of sober truth. Italy^s monasteries 
contain palimpsests — parchments which, centuries ago, 
were inscribed with the history or laws of heathen Rome, 
edicts of persecuting emperors, or annals of pagan con- 
quest. When the church arose, the same parchments were 
again used to rehearse legends and prayers of saints. 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


187 


Later still, they recorded speenlations of school-men and 
revived knowledge, yet presenting only one written sur- 
face. But modern science has learned to uncover these 
overlaid writings one after another, finding upon one sur- 
face the speculations of learning, the devotion of the 
church, and the blasphemies of paganism. So with the 
tablets of Greta^s soul. Written over and over again, but 
with no writing ever effaced, she was waiting for the mas- 
ter-hand to uncover them to be read of all. Bible legends 
and childhood prayers had been engraved there ; the 
paganism of Meeks was now being written by an invisible 
hand, but divine wisdom and thought from above there 
was none. 

There is no peace for the wicked/^ wrote Greta, 
alternating between a paroxysm for Meeks and a con- 
trasted apprehension of the unpeaceful consequences of 
complying with all his desires. 

February 28, 18 

As a deserted water-logged ship may drift at sea, 
rudderless and derelict, with torn sails, broken spars, 
unguided by a pilot and untenanted by a human soul, so 
the bark of Greta’s thoughts, manned by no human soul, 
shattered and without a helmsman, was beating and 
rocking in storm-tossed waters; until, like the ill-omened 
mermaid whose appearance forbodes a shipwreck, there 
loomed up in her rising sea the image of the siren with 
whom Meeks had gone to Biloxi. 

Mrs. Rakeless had a charm that bewitched many a 
Don Juan at Pass Christian. Graceful in her movements 


4 


188 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


as an ocean nymph, walking and dancing like the sway of 
the leaves or the sweep of the waves, the willing listeners 
to her siren harmonies were afraid, not that their bones 
would whiten on the strand,^^ but that on some to-morrow 
they might wake up to find her floated off in a cloud to sea 
from the rock where she had only alighted for the time. 
Her tread and attitude and carriage was that of a ^^dear,^’ 
they jokingly said, but it was a wild deer of the forest. 
The outlines of her figure were as wave-like as Undine’s 
own, and that supreme artist, Nature, had painted her 
with colors which made a picture as beautiful as the 
sculpture of her form. Yellow tinted the languid neck, 
the round, smooth cheeks and the coquettish chin; the 
rich, dark yellow hair was unshaded with either auburn 
or flaxen, while the sleepy eyes opened upon you, reader, 
with a gleam of yellow sunlight; deep autumn forest 
yellow was everywhere, as if, while man was made of dust 
in general, Mrs. Rakeless was selected and taken only 
from that particular variety called gold dust. She was in 
the full bloom of a perfect lotus-flower, as richly enchant- 
ing as a sunset of the tropics, and her low, clear, sweet 
voice was not unlike the tones of some of Beethoven’s 
music. 

This Cleopatra was too close to Meeks — in Greta’s 
estimation — for Greta to be entirely comfortable. She 
felt much as if she were a fisherman’s wife, and had just 
seen two lovely white arms thrust up from the sea to 
snatch her husband from her breast and drag him beneath 
the waves. Mrs. Rakeless was as cruel as any water-fay. 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


189 


and Meeks was certainly a fisherman — and a fisher of 
women, too, for that matter. A dull pain began to creep 
vaguely over her; she had never been jealous of Meeks, 
for she had never suspected that his infidelity was of 
various kinds. Forming the ^^pure marriage of nature” 
with Meeks was one thing in poor Greta^s logic, and 
gratifying his Mormonish desire for natural polygamy, 
without limit or discrimination, was quite another. Her 
trembling hand wrote one last annotation. 

'‘Do you love another?” 

Then she arose and threw over her shoulders a white 
Spanish scarf. Her mother, glancing up from the card 
table to accost her, saw, as the bright lamp overhead 
lighted up the marble face and the shining golden hair, 
that the scarlet lip was quivering, and she forbore to 
speak. But just after her daughter had vanished, she 
wished that she had called to that retreating figure, for a 
strange fear, as if a premonition of danger, began to creep 
over her, until she became too uneasy to remain at the 
card table. But when she went to search, the departed 
girl was nowhere found. 

Greta with the sunshine hair, sailing so blithely 
where your stream of life is bright and smooth, so merry 
and sparkling on sunlit waters, with heart as light as 
blush on rose — can you weather the coming storm? The 
sky is gray and clouding, a gale is brewing, and gloomy 
waves are threatening — but your smiling pilot has cast his 
lot with another, and shall no longer steer your helm! 

Out in the cool night air she had bent her steps with 


190 


THE MADOXHA OP PASS CHUISTIAH. 


little hesitation toward the murderer’s oak. The girl 
philosopher had determined to quell her feverishness with 
a cold draught of dread from the haunt of goblins. She 
hoped that the excitement of watching for vividly 
imagined bogles — those imps of Satan who called for 
Captain Dane — would divert her mind and cure it of its 
ache and worry. She was not to be disappointed; the long 
and permanent success of the remedy in store for her was 
to exceed her fondest hopes. 

It was a calm evening — clear and silent, with hardly 
a breath of wind to stir the leaves. 

She stepped upon a road which led her along the bluffs 
of the coast, between oaks and magnolias thickly hung 
with Spanish moss. The trunks and limbs quite shut her 
in, and their upper branches met high over her head, 
forming a leafy roof way. G-reta thought it like the aisle 
of a cathedral, and far ahead, as though it were the altar 
of this fine church, appeared the outlines of the goblin- 
haunted oak. Softened moonlight came through the 
branches above, much as the light of day dimly goes 
through the dark and holy stained-glass windows, and 
the deep shadows were grave and solemn. Pews were 
arranged along the way under the trees, for the con- 
venience of its weary church-goers, but no congre- 
gation was there that night, and the emptiness of the 
seats was very frightening. Dreamy sheep bells tinkled 
now and then from distant pastures and she could 
hear the faint barking of dogs from the village on 
the further side of the Mexican Gulf,” but, for the 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


191 


most part, it was as still as during communion service 
in church, and Greta and the cloud-veiled moon were 
tenderly glowing all alone. Earth and air were all at rest. 

Why did these haunting verses run through Greta’s 
mind as she walked? 

“ The maiden sleeps in her chamber 

Where the quivering moonbeams glance; 

Outside comes a rattling and jingling, 

The melody of a dance. 

‘ I will see who, beneath my window. 

Serenades and breaks my rest, 

'Tis a grinning skeleton fiddles there, 

And sings like one possessed.’ 

‘ To dance with me you promised once. 

And you have broken your vow; 

To-night is a ball in the church-yard. 

Come out and waltz with me now!’ 

The music bewitches the maiden, 

, Spell-bound, she can not stay, 

So she follows the skipping form ghastly. 

Which goes fiddling and singing away. 

The white figure hops and dances 
In the pale moon’s glimmering ray. 

His skull nods grimly and weirdly. 

And his bones they crackle away.” 

feel it in my bones,” said Greta to herself, that 
a spectral violinist is before me.” 

As she drew near the extraordinary Oak, so celebrated 
for size and strength, it seemed darker around its august 
trunk than elsewhere on 'her way; impenetrable blackness 
lurked under the massive and overhanging foliage. Its 
dusky funereal stillness was as melancholy as the tor- 
mented murderer who used to watch there, and that idea 


192 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


oppressed her very much. The pleasure-ground of a 
Southern villa lay beyond a hedge on the further side of 
this tree; who owned it, was a problem which was being 
discussed from one Court of ^‘Justice” to another, 
and, until it was solved, the villa and its grounds 
were as uninhabited a desert as Chancery could make 
them. The stately building, long in want of repairs, 
was now half ruined, and the park was overgrown 
with weeds and brambles. A stone tiger lay among 
them, its former splendor, like that of Southern democ- 
racy, now all broken and overthrown. A bulky tow- 
ering cupola, cutting off the moonlight, cast a train of 
darkness like a long shadow funeral; dreary were the 
mouldy rooms below where Chancery talked and shouted 
and fluttered its ghastly garments with a sound as of rust- 
ling paper; mistaken grass grew on the roof as if it would 
cover the mound which covered the dead; fungus and 
scaly plants bordered the crumbling windows from which 
beautiful faces had looked and watched, and the obscure 
panes now gazed at Greta, cold and empty, as if they were 
the lack-lustre eyes of a staring corpse. Whimsical dis- 
torted monsters, shaggy with moss, bounded and started 
up from among the long rank grass, grim and ugly as 
ogres. Rather scared at the ferocious assembly, she 
walked on, at first with quickened feet, then, more slowly. 

A few minutes after she had passed this place, and 
while its damp yet chilled her, she heard rapidly approach- 
ing footsteps. They came over the gravel from the direc- 
tion of the deserted park. Had one of the dragons which 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


193 


she saw rising out of the weeds set out in pursuit of her? 
A rusty iron gate, disused for many a year, languished 
open and downward on half-broken hinges, as if inviting 
her to enter and sink into the ground like the fallen mag- 
nificence of the next adjacent ruin.- But she summoned 
all her courage and turned her head, — to see that the 
advancing tread was only that of a gentleman in full even- 
ing dress, — probably one of the many hotel guests, she 
thought, out for a stroll. He walked swiftly and steadily, 
as if his object was more definite than mere idling. 

^^Does he think Fm walking the street alone at night 
because I^m wicked?” thought. Miss Greta. If anything 
of that kind is his quest, I will head him off, as Miss Trim 
used to say at the boarding-school, by ‘very circumspect 
behaviour.^” 

So she paused in a little open glade where the moon- 
light fell on her, near the road side next the Gulf, and 
looked away to the sky in attempted imitation of saints 
whose pictures she had seen in a Catholic church in 
Chicago. 

It was a very clever imitation. As was her wont, she 
was clothed entirely in white. J ust then the moon flashed 
out from a cloud, and, through a parting in the branches, 
streamed down upon her snowy costume, revealing her 
bathed from head to foot in lustre. In the background 
was the sea, shining in the moon's radiance like flowing 
gold; the clouds over the sea were beautiful masses of 
luminous silver, and as she stood with her sweet Madonna 
face upraised to them, they shed upon her a halo of pale, 


194 


THE MADONN^A OF PASS CHRISTIAN'. 


silvery glory, uatil she seemed verily to have strayed from 
that host who used to walk in the garden of Eden in the 
cool of the day under the shade of the Tree of Life, but 
which eye hath not seen, since John, at Patmos, beheld 
the Tree of Life again, in the new Paradise, beside a 
river clear as crystal. 

Perhaps it was not surprising that the stranger, though 
walking quickly, paused a moment, as though involun- 
tarily worshiping so beauteous an image, that stood, 
seemingly, in transfigured, saint-like rapture. 

Wonder if he knows me,^^ thought Greta, and she 
turned her head to see. Too late! His face was gone — into 
the further shadows. She heard his retreating steps, then 
the sound of the swinging of a gate, and so knew that he 
had entered the grounds of some cottage or villa. 

Meeting a denizen of the human world dissipated her 
dread of the superhuman one, and Greta was now ready 
to meet the prince of murderers himself. So, brave and 
gay, she went back to the haunted tree and stood in the 
midst of its thick darkness. It grew in an ancient wood; 
its neighbors were also venerable; but its own majesty 
soared up a hundred feet high into the air, and its dense 
wide-spreading branches threw a heavy shadow over half 
an acre about Greta. 

Demon of the Haunted Oak I she said, looking up 
among the knotted boughs into its haggard, gaunt recesses, 
as though some knowing goblin lived in the depths of its 
foliage; show me the fire Phantoms, and tell me, where 
is the buried treasure 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


195 


Her voice rang out clear, like the flare of a single torch 
in surrounding blackness, and the black silence around her 
seemed deeper and more intense for her bold and hardy 
challenge. Fields, road and hedges were wrapt in slum- 
ber. A delicate silvery mist had been rising, and now ex- 
quisitely blended its sheen with the- soft clouds overhead; 
dreamy and motionless, its semi-transparency veiled the 
far-off capes and light-houses and the nearer woods, and 
gave a coy and subdued charm to the face of the land- 
scape. 

Dark as was her troubled soul, Greta looked outward 
and upward, as if for a glimpse of the heaven beyond the 
sea of strife and sorrow. Her father^s house was there, and 
a light shone as from its windows — to welcome her away 
from the weeping fields of earth to the great white throne. 

But all that Greta wanted was buried treasure. She 
asked for the pot at the end of the rainbow. For the bow of 
promise over the cloud, with all its heavenly light and 
beauty, she cared nothing; but the pot in the ground, 
she wanted. There was no alphabet in the sky which she 
could read. Her law of gravitation, as written in One 
False Step,^^ remorselessly attracted her to Meeks and 
pots. All the brilliant universe above, with all its starry 
eloquence, addressed itself to Greta in vain. Gazing up 
into eternity, she saw there only her own brief life; vain 
of her father^s wealth, gold dollars displaced the shining 
suns of night and thrust out of sight the immortal gold 
beyond; miserably jealous, she saw Mrs. Rakeless even 
in the aerial vault of heaven ; worshiping fashion. 


196 


THE MADOxVNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the Jewels of the sky were worthy of notice only because 
they were always d la mode. She was her own sphere, and 
her own worldly shadow kept her always in total eclipse. 

With no higher thought of the night scene than that she 
‘‘felt comfortable in such nice weather/^ the young fatalist 
watched. and waited. The birds were all at rest, the white 
violets in the meadows had bowed their heads in sleep, but 
a wakeful honeysuckle twining over a ruined arbor just 
across the hedge, restless, as if thinking of some fickle bird- 
lover, was sighing fragrance all around. The ivy clasped 

the oak in tender quiet. How tranquil it all was, and how 

» 

very beautiful! 

Was there no other sound than the tremulous quiver of 
a nervous leaf or the grasshopper’s gentle chirp? 

Hark! 

A faint, muffled, guarded rustling, — something like the 
automatic crackling of dry twigs fallen from the Oak. 
Now it seemed stealthily to move ; now it stopped. 
Across the hedge in the deserted lawn the ruin rose 
proudly, with its high gables sharply outlined. Silence 
brooded over its closed and saddened casements, and it 
seemed to Greta that some mute horror within its secret 
courts was slowly issuing from its walls and creeping over 
the barren lawn toward her. Hush ! Did the overthrown 
marble tiger stir then, with sudden life? Had the stone 
image moved? For presently she heard again the creep- 
ing stir of an invisible something. A sharp glance around, 
however, revealed nothing, — not even a crouching form. 

“Only withered branches dropping; or,” — she added, 


A HAUNTED OAK. 


197 


aloud, with her characteristic hardihood, — ‘Ms it you. 
Captain Dane?^" 

If that shrewd pirate had been near, however, he might 
have detected a quaver in G-reta’s voice, which would have 
assured him that he need not be overawed by her brave show 
Fear indeed was overcoming her fast, and her alarm received 
a quick heart-throbbing impulse, as she heard another 
fitful, clandestine rustling, as if some wild thing were 
steadily crawling along the ground toward her. The panic 
of danger unknown stole over her; she felt that to run or 
scream would only tempt attack, fancying that if she were 
bold and quiet, like Dick the Fiddler in the child^s story 
of the wolves, the unknown marauder, like a savage dog 
when faced, would not molest her. For a moment she con- 
sidered: it might be a poisonous snake, if so, where all was 
dark it would be unsafe to move her foot. The sullen mys- 
terious evil was congregating all around her, and her be- 
wildered judgment, never disciplined, fiew off at an extrav- 
agant tangent from its true course when now she was 
hemmed in on all sides by the menace of a catastrophe 
from which there was no flight. She listened acutely, 
to determine but the direction of the unseen peril, so that, 
if she ran, she would not rush into its very jaws. Either 
a gust of wind or a heavy breath then thrilled the air about 
her, and so palsied her with terror that she no longer could 
stir hand or foot, — even if she would; and now, all at once, 
something told her shocked senses that the honeysuckle^s 
perfume had been overwhelmed by a stronger odor — recog- 
nized by her as the same which she had experienced on 


198 


THE MADOifNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


visiting a lunatic asylum long ago, — the sickening smell of 
the garments of the imprisoned insane. 

She had repelled the peace of that beautiful night, and 
its deep holy silence could give her none of its saintly 
calm; she felt not the tenderness of the murmuring sea 
and forest; she was not touched by the love of Him who 
made his human creatures to enjoy beauty and who blend- 
ed for her so sweetly the dreamy moonlight and starlight; 
the pathos of it all moved her not, and now the green 
light of two wolfish eyes glittered upon her, as if from that 
grave relentless messenger who summons mortals to their 
last judgment. She had sought the haunt of phantom ter- 
ror, and asked only something buried. Suddenly, as from 
a grave bursting open at her feet, or as if the haunted 
oak had released its locked-up horror, — there sprang up 
towards her the very King of Phantoms, with his fatal 
clutch, the Crowned Terror, with his fearful cry, the ashy 
spectre. Death! 


CHAPTEK XIV. 


A HAUNTING NEGRO. 

I hear a voice you can not hear, 

Which says I must not stay; 

I see a hand you can not see, 

Which beckons me away.” 

My good suh, is dis yer de oJffus whar um man kin 
git a marriage licensus? W^at I ^tends ter cumvey ez dat 
I wants ter buy a permit' ter hev a wife, — er a rebate. I 
dunno w at de name er God ^scum ^cross me, — Pse dat full 
up dat I can’t talk. Does my vapidity er thought en 
action annoy yah? ” 

The talker was a young negro, whose slight baldness in 
front seemed to have been brought on artificially, from 
devotion to a certain distinguished ideal, who had ‘^gone 
to some old dowager who was up in things.” The speak- 
er’s ears were long and pointed, and occasionally they 
would seem to move slightly backwards and forwards; his 
nose was long and equine, and his voice was an unmusical 
bray. He had stamped into the court-house at Baton Rouge 
and addressed one of the parish clerks. Fora moment the 
latter stared at him in silence. 

Marriage license?” he asked, at length. 

Yasser.” 

For yourself? ” 

‘‘No suh! Fer mysel’ an’ de mor’ lubly en faires’ 

199 


200 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


pardler ever seed dis yer side er dat hebenly Newport, 
inter whose good graces I hez tasted en wormed mysel’, en 
wich is mo^ like dat man ez painted Spanish cheerups, ole 
Marius, dan enny woman I ever seed — ” 

What in thunder^s your name?^’ broke in the clerk. 

Ward McAllister. 

^‘What!” 

Ward McAllister. Ain^t the soun’ er ' Me ’ extin- 
guished ^nuff? My fren^ de ginerawl uster quietly say 
‘ pass on, suh,^ w^en I axed um — ” 

Say, young feller, do you understand the nater of an 
oath?^^ 

Yasser. I swars by de goddess Venus, and lets umbi- 
tion go.^^ 

'^Are you, truly, any relation to that goose leader in 
New York? ” 

Guess I is, suh. He an^ I cum fum Goose Creek, 
Jawjaw, en he’s a debochee er de goddess Venus. 0, he 
wuz a handsome boy; de women wuz juss crazy arter ’im; 
so my young en lubly mammy uster sigh en say, afore she 
died, ez dey tells me, er a broken heart. Poor deah, I 
wuz her fust — ” 

Here McAllister broke off with his voice quavering and 
with a tear in his eye, while the clerk looked sympathetic 
indignation toward a gentleman who sat behind the high 
boarded-up railing, — unseen by the fatherless, deserted 
waif. 

What is the lady’s name?” resumed the clerk in a 
milder tone. 


A HAUNTING NEGRO. 


201 


But' the unfortunate orphan^s powers of speech seemed 
to have failed him. Perhaps old memories flooded and 
confused more recent recollections, for he meditated aud 
scratched his head very deliberately. 

I jess can’t remembah wot it is, boss,” he finally said, 
in a dubious voice; ‘‘ I ain’t knowed de lady long, but 
she am one ob de faires’ ob de fair, an’ de darter ob one ob 
de mos’ ’stinguished mens ob our country, a lubly flower 
wich ain’t quite a flower, an’ yet wich ain’t no mo’ a bud. 
It’s sumpin like Corry er Cassie er Carey, seem ter me. 
Er, — dat’ll do anyways, suh, — Carie.” 

“Christian or surname?” said the clerk, in a rapid, 
business way, as he reached for a blank license. 

“ Who ? Er — er — Christian er sermon ? 0, yasser — ” 
(with a gleam of intelligence), “she’s a Baptist.” 

“No, no, is this ^Carrie’ her first or her last name ?” 

“I dunno. I done hear de name onct. But ’pears 
like I can’t des git it, suh,” and he contemplated the 
faded frescoes of the ceiling, in a study as brown as their 
stains of smoke. “Her name done bin Corry, anyhow, 
suh.” 

“ That her first name ?” 

“ Yasser.” 

“ Or her last name ?” 

“ Yasser.” His head did not seem to be at all clear, 
‘ but right den an dar he ain’t know w’at ter do’ — as he 
afterwards explained. 

“Well, McAllister, my boy, I can do no more for 
you ; you had better go off and learn the name of your 
wife.” 


202 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


^^All right, my deah suh/^ said McAllister; jis 
wanter say dat dat fair creature wars blue, an^ dat she am 
a bold en darin^ belle ; she ’tacks me ob en ^bout de mos^ 
inmos’ secrets er my heart, en has wu^ked me all up — to a 
feber heat. I met her, suh, in de abode ob fairy-lan^, wid 
udder lubly young mannikin womanhood, in a wole ob 
^toxicated delight, whar soft slimous music stole ober de 
sensuous, whar lubly woman’s eyes sputtered wid joy at de 
delisery ob dar surroundiii’s, en whar de fair bein’ ob my 
lubbin heart wuz a-lookin’ like she moughter greased 
Hellexander’s feast, a-sitbin’ by my side, like a lubly eastun 
bride, in yaller bloomin’ be — uty’s pride. But I kin no 
longer stay wid yo’, so good day, suh.” 

Having thus tried to explain how he fell in love so 
quickly, and how he had resolved to marry without 
obtaining certain prosaic though indispensable data, 
McAllister walked, on feet that sounded like hoofs, towards 
the door. As luck would have it, he turned round to 
make a low aristocratic bow to the clerk, just as a white 
planter came in. Therefore it chanced that one of those 
hoofs trod upon a foot of the entering white. 

‘^Condemn your black soul!” exclaimed the wrathy 
planter, rubbing the crushed and aching member ; “why 
can’t you look where you’re going ?” 

“My deah suh,” replied McAllister, “I ain’t a-gwine 
ter permit my dignitum en rupose ter be at all rumpled ; 
I go frew dis tryin’ ordeal well ; but why, why will not de 
people all learn to dance ? No, suh, ’scuse me, I won’t 
shake no hands ; de English shiyaree nebber shuck um, 
but yet dey ’dops it en sassiety ez I has found it.” 


A HAUNTING NEGRO. 


203 


^'The ‘sassiety’ of the White League will visit you, if 
you jaw much more to white folks like that, an^ I’m a 
going to get it to hold a tarrin^ an’ featherin’ bee in yer 
honor right smart soon ! Whar do you live ?” 

With a geared look at the angry planter, McAllister 
dashed towards the door, but encountered on his way a 
rickety wooden bench. Like much Southern furniture, it 
was old and feeble, and McAllister, as the last straw, 
broke its back. Crashing over the bench, he fell heavily 
to the floor, and there lay for a moment bewildered. This 
accident drew upon its author the ire of the clerk, to 
whom the destroyed lounge had been as easy and comfort- 
able as one’s old clothes. 

Well, if you ain’t the cussedest nigger that ever 
walked! Where is your unnatural father, anyway? I’ll 
swear out a warrant on him for your assaulting and batter- 
ing this here court-house; you ain’t responsible, you sugar- 
plum! ” 

As the disgusted clerk ceased, the gentleman who had 
sat hidden within the railed enclosure of the office rose 
and quietly called: 

‘'Ward McAllister!” 

“My noble fren’!” exclaimed that gentleman, de- 
lightedly, as he tumbled awkwardly to his feet; “Gub- 
bumer Winthrop er Bostum!” 

It was not, however, the risen spectre of that distin- 
guished Puritan come back to life to aid McAllister at a 
social crisis, but only Mr. Winthrop Warren, with a char- 
itable desire to change the subject somehow and so smooth 
a road for his former servant out of possible trouble. 


204 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


'^Are there many new guests at Pass Christian since I 
left there?” 

snh, not many thoroughbreds. Dey is one lubly 
woman, howsumdever, wich I mouter s’lected fo^ um 
Madonner. But suh, I let ambition go, en dey fired me 
ez waiter.” 

‘"Indeed! and why were you discharged?” 

“ Well, suh, close sociashum at a watering-place like dat 
ar Pass Christian naterally perduces jars. De purpietor 
ob de Jdexican Guff was berry rich en pow’ful, an^ he 
corned ter be axactin’ an’ bulgineerin’. Cullud pussons 
ob moderick means, wich as ain’t got no socious powah ter 
brag on, mus’ needs be piled ter one side en scrowded out, 
ef de one man powah ob dat collosus rich man wuz ter 
patrol sassiety ez I founded her. I ’fleeted dat dat would 
not wu’k. De scrimmage paid ter a sassiety leader mus’ 
cum funi de steam an’ marryation wich de peoples feels fo’ 
um, en mus’ not be fo’ced. So my Yankee wit "cums ter 
my insistance, an’ I conclused ter lead sassiety myse’f. 
Free cullud jebblem, De Laiicey Coon^ Aleck Van Rams* 
ler an’ me, we all bounded ourselbs inter a sociashum wich 
as we called de Patricks. Den we s’lected mo’ Patricks 
bekase ob dey’s fitness, braced up en tu’k in de ole Colonial 
niggers from Gaboon, an’ de ’dopted niggahs who all got 
de money powah. Well, suh, one commemorrible night 
we all guv a Patricks ball, which ez we called it de Goose 
Ball, an we guv it in de cow barn ob ole Deacon Willum 
Shorthorn, — ez had de money powah. All de high-toned 
darkies wuz ’vited fum miles ’roun’, an’ each one ob de 


A HAUNTING NEGRO. 


205 


Patricks wuz de Baptismal sponger ob his goose, an^ ain't 
'low to 'vite no objections party, 'kase den sassiety would 
raid 'um so ez he would go en sin no mo'. De secret ob 
de Patricks ball wuz ter make 'im slick. An' suh, we 
tuk in ez gooses eve'y purty gal 'longside o' me fo' a hun- 
dred miles en mo'. Well, suh, de fiddler 'menced to 
screech, an' eve'y body ' gun ter hop an' tear. Dar wuz 
l^-dies six foot long, an' ter empertain eve'y body wid 
sassiety tastes, we had a duck pond an' two swans a-fittin 
an' a-tearin' each udder like mad, an' we had a bull-pup 
an' some rats wich as we put in a pit. We s'rounded de 
pit wid our Waterburries in hand a-timin' dat dog's wu'k — 
wich he easy did in de 'lotted time, de intryludes 'tween 
de dances. He easy killed all dem rats wich de Patricks 
brung um, wich called out gorramighty 'plause. Den we 
drawed de badger, an' a berry 'musin sight it wuz, ter see 
a terror a-pulliu de badger by his year. Den we bucked 
de tiger and had dog fits, an' de ladies jes shouted wid 
delight, an' we all howled an' yelled an' sung Muffodis' 
hymns. At midnight ole Deacon Shorthorn led us in 
prar, and den we sot down to de flesh-pots ob Egyp'. Yer 
oughter see some er de bright minds wich I brung to- 
gedder dar. I sot nex' ter de champion prize fighter. 
Sech drinkin ! Bumpin' arter bumpin’, eve'y one on em 
drainin' his glass but me. (I skillfully slew my bitters 
under de table.) All de company but me wuz mighty 
soon 'toxicated. De low-down niggers in green an' gold 
liberties, wich ez we rented ter wait on us, nebber cracked 
a smile. De ladies arter a bumpin' would let der tin cups 


206 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


drap en tumble demselves forrerd on de table, smashin’ 
every tin^ ; we picked dem up and deplaced um in der 
cheers. Dis wuz kep’ up until four o^clock de nex^ mornin’, 
w^en wid pleasure I slipped out an^ wuz off in my hansom. 

“ Well, suh, it wuz de Providence er God dat I got 
gone off so moderickly airly. Haffen^our arterwards, 
up cum de cops an’ put all de Patricks in de jug, an’ 
de mos’ ob um went to de work-house arterwards an’ 
to de chain gang. But dat one-man powah at de Mex- 
ican Guff, snh, he ain’t got no scrupulous at all ; de berry 
nex’ day he sez ter me, he ain’t got no use fo’ enny mo’ 
Patrick, an’ dat he wuz a-gwine ter ’spense wid my perfes- 
sioiial sermises. ^My good suh,’ — sez I, but befo’ I could 
get out one mo’ word, dat onpolite an’ vulgah rich man 
suh, ejaculated me fum de do’ an’ said he guv me jes 
one hour ter leab de country. So I am cum hyar, suh.” 

At this affecting recital of the wrongs of the Southern 
negro, Warren was much moved. 

^‘May I ask,” said he, very politely, ^^what induced 
you to get married ? ” 

My deah fren’,” said McAllister, I has no baronial 
mansard ; Pse a wonder on de face ob de yarth, while de 
gal am de posesher er wot I mos’ covick, an orcestral home 
an’ a big domain. So I tole her pa, ^my deah fellah, I will 
interduce de young gal inter sassiety, an’ will use de funs 
yah gibs me, but not in gibel no mo’ Patricks balls. De 
gal bein’ a booty, all de rest am easy ’nuff. I s’cured a 
Cushing, an’ down I goes, de young woman larfin immod- 
erickly ; but I, not in de lease pertub, gripin’ my buckay 


A HAUNTING NEGRO. 


207 


er sunflowers wid one han" an’ slappin’ my yuther ban’ on 
my lieart, a-lookin’ into de bottom er her lubly eyes, 
dressed her wid dese words : ' 0 charmin’ emblem ob de 
rosy spring, 0 may dese lubly flowers, 0 may dese tints 
ob morn, dese chillin’ hopes ez timid ez de dawnin’ blast, 
convoy deir fragments inter yah heart wot I could but 
don’t dare say.’ An’ wot do yah ’spose she ’sponded 

""I haven’t the remotest idea,” said Warren, "^your 
proposition I should consider ambiguous.” 

“ Yasser. Dat’s wot she said — ” 

^‘Well,” interrupted the clerk, ""I don’t understand 
your case at all, McAllister. In this State we don’t license 
men to marry women who don’t want ’em. Before you 
come back here next time you get a written permit from 
this Carey woman, and I will see then about giving you 
your ^rebate.’” 

McAllister silently turned to go, when another thought 
seemed to strike the clerk. Attentively looking at the 
negro, he observed that his boots were muddy, his clothes 
bespattered, and that his hand held a rude horsewhip, as 
if he had ridden for many miles from the country. 

McAllister,” said the clerk, “I want to ask you a 
question.” 

That gentleman returned. 

^^Have you come from anywhere near the Lamotte 
crevasse 9 ” 

Yasser. From ’bout a mile from thar.” 

How’s the levee, — is the break any worse?” 

'‘Who? Wuss? Ain’t you heerd yet, boss? De river 


208 


THE MADOHNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


broke in airly dis mornin^ and licked to split a railroad 
bridge, and is swamped de railroad. No kyars can pass 
over dat Mississippi Valley road for de Lawd knows when, 
sho’/^ 

That’s all, McAllister; good day.” 

Grood day, siih.” 

That distinguished thoroughbred raised his cap in part- 
ing salute to the three white spectators. Embarrassed by 
their gaze his lifted elbow swept a neighboring desk, upset- 
ting a bottle of mucilage. 

^^Name er God!” he exclaimed, and, as he forthwith 
bolted for the outer air, the whites of his eyes rolled up in 
a manner ghastly to see. Alternating maledictions on 
that extinguished” black hide” with many an inter- 
vening laugh, the clerk snatched up the overturned bottle 
and removed the wrecked bench. 

This latest intelligence from the crevasse about 
destroys your last hope,” said he, turning to the Northern 
visitor. Warren had inspected his plantation, renewed 
its lease, and was now ready to go North. 

If this news is confirmed,” he replied, all I can do 
will be to return to New Orleans and North by some other 
route. I think I shall try the Louisville and Nashville, — 
such being the farthest from levees.” 

If you do, Sir,” said the Southerner, stop off at one 
of our Gulf resorts on the way, — for example, Pass Chris- 
tian.” 

^^So I have been heretofore advised,” replied Warren, 
musing and smiling. 





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A HAUNTING NEGRO. 


209 


As the day wore on, later reports from the locality of 
the broken bridge fully corroborated Mr. McAllister's 
tidings. The railway north was impassible, and the 
morrow saw Warren on that flying express which 
speeds out of New Orleans at "‘3:15 p. m.” For nearly 
two hours it runs without a stop, swift as an arrow- over 
the green marshes of Chef Menteur, and by the shores of 
blue Lake Catherine. 

Behind him lay a city in dust and ashes. The blaring 
bands, surging crowds, the gaudy decorations, giddy 
dancers, and excited sounds, — all the fantastic city, with 
its brilliance or its burning, was dead, and everywhere the 
mourning Lenten bells were tolling for its funeral. 

Riding in the same car with Warren were two whose 
recent success in getting married had beeii greater than 
Ward McAllister's. They were in the seat just ahead of 
his, and he could not help observing their ardor. One arm 
of the bridegroom rested upon the back of the seat and 
up and around the neck of the partner of his joys. One 
of those joys was the offspring (literary) of a railroad poet, 
which he loudly read to her as descriptive of the country 
through which their train was rushing. Newly-married 
enthusiasm emphasized every word that he uttered, and 
Warren therefore overheard the following: — 

A recent writer has said of the coast: 

The earth has wedded with the sky, and in the yielding atmos- 
phere they hold their nuptial dalliance; rosebuds and broad magno- 
lias bloom, and scented blossoms of the bay tree spring up— sweet 
children of the sun and soil — for Heaven smiles soft benedictions on 
them all the day, and all the night the chaste moon flings her golden 


210 


THE MADOHXA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


glory, like a covering of woven dreams, about their slumbers. Come 
when he will, come how he may, it matters not, for Heaven lingers 
on the land, and on the shore the soft waves shimmer with a smile 
that breaks in laughter as they kiss the beach. 

Resinous pine and sturdy oak and stubborn cypress trees spring 
from the fecund earth; red berries gleam from out the depths of 
dark green leaves whose emerald knows no russet painting of the 
autumn; small silver streams creep over snow-white sands to seek 
the bosom of the sea; the salt air steals the honey of the flowers and 
bears the Balm of Gilead in its breath, and robs the radiant sun- 
beams of their genial glow, and lays its scented hand upon the lips 
so softly that you deem its finger-tips gloved with new rose-leaves 
from the garden of Gulistan. Let him who will paint a more per- 
fect paradise if he can. The poet’s eye looks upon this and rests; 
his soul is satisfied. 

The gentleman from cool Boston smiled and looked 
out of the window where the marshes of the coast were 
spreading far and wide, over wastes of sword grass and 
sedge and bulrushes in pools, stretching away damp and 
desolate into the purple distance. The wilderness of wind- 
swept grasses and sinewy weeds was threaded by many a 
bright river winding with sleeping blue lakes and lakelets 
linked together by green glimmering still bayous. Occa- 
sionally the green level would be broken by the silhouette 
of the white column of some light-house, or into ridges 
or hillocks heavily shaded with the rounded foliage of 
evergreen oaks. Here and there were green knolls of 
half-tropical foliage — islets in the breezy sea of prairie 
cane, and wearing crowns of laurel, myrtle and palmetto, 
orange and magnolia. Numberless wild fowl shot up as 
the train rattled by, birds of cloudy gray plumage flashed 
with white, flying and indignantly trilling their petulance 
at the intruding cars; great white cranes rose superbly 


A HAUNTING XEGRO. 


211 


from among the reeds and flags and floated away, like 
slow and stately ships, towards the dark coast-line of for- 
est, furling their white sails there and vanishing like 
melted snowflakes. Swarming ducks fluttered through 
tall bulrushes, whistling staccato tunes in minor keys, and 
the air and sky aloft was darkened with hurtling wings. 

Swiftly the train whirled by Gentilly, Micheauds, Chef 
Menteur, Rigolets, Gulf View — a mixed assortment of 
wooden dwellings queerly encamped on platforms in mid- 
air, supported by tall piles over marsh and salt water: 
these hanging gardens had come from Babylon, and here 
on the road to New Orleans had lost their way. Motion- 
less desolate fens stagnated around them, and they were 
serenaded by the melancholy songs of long-legged birds 
and the shrieks of passing trains. 

By and by as the train whirled on, the trembling land 
grew firmer; assembling cypresses, oaks with the parasitic 
tillandsia streaming from them like hoary hairs, lonely 
pines gathering, — marked the ending of the swamps, and 
there approached a thin bluish line of woods — like a dis- 
tant army in blue. 

At five o^clock the train darted in among continuous 
groves of pines; flower gardens, green lawns, villas, cool 
cottages with hammocks on their piazzas, and, finally, into 
a compact, clustering little city with pearly shell drives 
along the sapphire bay. 

Bay St. Louis! 

And the train stopped on a smooth green lawn at 
an aesthetic little depot where a fountain sparkled and 


212 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


danced and played in a geranium garden, while everybody 
came down to see the passengers, gossip, and hear the 
news. 

A whistle and a ringing, — then on again, till long pier- 
heads came in sight, shooting out into blue water; then, 
with a sudden freak, the limited express jumped off the 
land altogether — from the hill on which the town perched, 
across that blue water, leaving ornamental kiosks behind 
and pagodas of bath houses along the Bay St. Louis^ shore; 
hurrying with a shriek, and a roar, and a rattle, over a 
slender trestle work that connected it with an emerald- 
green forest on the further side. 

Off the water and into the pine woods again. 

Then, sprightly white cottages gleaming among groves 
of live oaks, where gray moss pendants from branches 
unceasingly swaying waved greeting to the traveler; quiet 
lanes winding through thickets of C3^press, magnolia and pal- 
metto; roses, roses everywhere, thrusting themselves up to 
perfume the atmosphere, until houses, trees and ground 
were flaming with their crimson and gold; and when at 
5:15 p, M. Warren alighted at a lonely station, the pine- 
scented air, with a dark, gloomy rampart of forest in the 
background, told him that he was again at Pass Christian. 

Somewhat tired with his journey, which, with a very 
early morning start, had been continuous from Baton 
Rouge, Warren retired to his room on his arrival at the 
hotel. Through the sunset he lay drowsily trying to doze, 
but watching the Gulf ; vast, shifting, that watery prairie 
spread out to the pale horizon, glowing in the' cloudless 


A HAUNTING NEGRO. 


213 


sunset with yellow and strange opalescent hues, not often 
seen by Northern eyes. It was the first tranquil hour 
which he had spent since he left the same quiet hotel 
before the carnival. Since then different events has 
pressed closely upon each other; his mind had been closely 
employed with immediate business or amusement, and 
their confusing rush had quite banished certain pathetic 
memories which were very apt to steal over him when 
alone. But now he had entered a calm little harbor, 
sails were furled, and the meditation of the anchored 
mariner was free to wander where it would. He had 
been given his former chamber, and the ideas present 
when he was last there now returned, curiously recalled 
— as is the willful fashion of ideas — by objects with which 
they had no natural connection. The chairs, tables, other 
furniture, and the ragged gray oaks before the windows 
outside, were associated in the past with ideas very unlike 
chairs and tables. He thought of his vision in Father 
Blanc’s little Catholic church, and then his remembrance 
revisited the one whose dust now lay on that bleak northern 
mountain beneath the bitter cold winds of March. She 
had left an empty world behind her, and a very sweet 
meeting was that vivid dream-ride from the old New Eng- 
land home roads, to the sunny Mexican Gulf. Then, like 
sudden light fiooding into the darkened halls of memory, 
rose up the bright shape, beautiful as the new heavens 
after the passing away of former things, which filled and 
warmed anew his solitary breast. Then the gay carnival, 
brilliant New Orleans, and the ball, and the Madonna 


214 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


dancing there^ just as he had dreamed of her; how she 
thrilled him ! Shy as a violet, in her simple robes of ex- 
quisite white, she had seemed outwardly the realization 
of his ideal, the incarnation of the apparition of the 
Catholic church, the one on whom had fallen the mantle 
of her who had ascended from earth, the fresh growing 
flowers of an awakening spring. 

But she, the last of sleep^s dissolving views, herself 
had dissolved away into a certain great white sea, where 
his search for her had proved as hopeless as for a lost 
pearl dropped into mid-ocean. And ah! how that voice 
called out to him again from those depths of despair in 
the gloom and solitude of dismal St. Charles: — 

Never to know. Never to know!” 

The sun went down ; twilight gradually faded from 
the watching sea, and from its waters the darkness rose 
upward. Shadows like evil phantoms steadily joined an- 
other shadow that had stolen over the desolation of a 
heart, until, with dusk, its waste was drearier than the 
emptiness of the arctic night. 


CHAPTEK XV. 


IDEALS. 

I 

“ He leads us on 
Through all the unquiet years ; 

Past all our dreamland hopes and fears 

He guides our steps, — through all the tangled maze 

Of sin and sorrow and o’er clouded days. 

We know His will is done ; 

As still he leads us on.” 

Something whispered these half-forgotten words to 
Warren> as a clock struck nine that evening. Just as its 
silvery ring died away, through the wide open windows 
there came a streak of light, and he saw that a red-gold 
moon was rising between the spreading of the trees. It 
tinged the leaves that heavily hung the branches with its 
golden sheen, and illuminated the blossoms in the garden, 
which now seemed in their gladness to give out a double 
perfume. 

Shall they be more cheerful than thought Warren, 
as he rose from his bed and walked out of doors into the 
night. Something led him in front of the hotel to the 
road, along which wild gasoline lamps were flickering. 
He walked aimlessly on, noting a sea of billowy grass that 
rolled on either side, and how the trees like masts of ships 
at anchor cast their still shadows there. Then the gro- 
tesque shadow of a gaunt pedestrian passed him, and he 
listlessly watched it foreshorten, lengthen, and then van-sli 

215 


216 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHKISTIAN. 


away ahead of him in the mysterious depths of the dark- 
ness of the trees. 

Without any definite purpose until then, he now 
thought of Miss Ardennes, and bent his steps in the direc- 
tion of her villa after that gaunt pedestrian. It was per- 
haps somewhat late, he felt, to disturb any of the country 
habitants of Pass Christian who were already within doors, 
and hoped that he might find the Ardennes family 
group upon their verandah, in which case he would 
chat a little while and arrange for future violin and 
piano soirees. Corrinne and Warren had a sincere liking 
for each othePs music, and especially delighted in duets. 
The anticipation of Chopin, Schubert, Brahms, Raff, 
Cade and Liszt, lined with silver the cloud of his present 
dejection V and it was Warren’s habit to look toward the 
bright edges of every sombre cumulus that darkened his 
life, rather than towards its leaden gray. 

Why were we put here,” he soliloquized, ‘^^and made 

to suffer all this sorrow and pain? Yet this confused 

wilderness of life is seen through and through by One 
who in the language of fiowers and in the beauty of this 
night tells me that he is my friend, and who nineteen cen- 
turies ago said he was ^ Our Father. ’ Perhaps by this sorrow 
and pain he is training his spiritual legions, until they, 
shall become more unconquerable than the Romans of 
CaBsar, more Spartan than those of Thermopylae.” 

The shell -paved road was before him ; and to rid him- 
self of his melancholy he plunged into it with energy as 
brisk as if his beloved were in the fathomless black gulf 


IDEALS. 


217 


of the vista at the further end. Magnolias and oaks were 
on each side of him, their foliage, ever green, telling of 
the eternal summer. A hundred-mile wide belt of pine 
forest, lining the Gulf coast, shielded him from the cold 
winds of the North. From the South came the heat 
currents of that mighty thermal manufactory which 
warms even the polar winters of Norway. So Warren’s 
walk, between the guardian pines of the North and the 
genial South wind from the Gulf, led him through a land 
of perpetual verdure. The grand old trees met high 
above his head, and, flecking the road with patches of 
light and shadow, made it like the black and white mar- 
ble pavement of some great church. This vast natural 
cathedral was as solitary and silent as a Catholic church 
during those hours when only a few kneel in the pews here 
and there praying or meditating. They look on pictures 
of saints and divine scenes painted by man and sometimes 
gain peace ; Warren now saw what the finger of God had 
written in frescoes of holy beauty. 

^^It is not so much what we possess,” he mused, as he 
went vigorously on,^^ that makes us happy or wretched, as 
what we think essential. We measure our attainments by 
an ideal ; if they equal our imaginary standard we are 
satisfied ; if not, we are discontented. It matters little 
what we have, if we believe something more is needed to 
make us happy. So long as this is lacking we are not 
at peace.” 

Fresh air and exercise and well-timed philosophy often 
do wonders in driving away the blues. 


218 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Ideals that are whimsical or unreasonable/^ he con- 
tinued, ‘^are tyrants which make their slaves most 
wretched. If happiness lies in the success of which we 
dream, the bird in the hand sings its sweetest songs for us 
in vain until the ideal bird is caught. Ideals false in 
theory, or which are not in accord with what surrounds 
us, disappoint our hopes, poison all innocent pleasure, and 
are fatal to all happiness. The Spartan who thinks self- 
sacrifice, pain, and evil, can possibly bring forth good, 
may be quite sure of happiness, and if one looks forward 
to another life, and imagines the blessedness of a being 
chastened by endurance and suffering and fitted for a resi- 
dence near the source of all that is beautiful in music or 
nature, then one may even gladden at the refining fire of 
disappointment, sorrow and pain. 

As this blind globe of oiirs whirls round, sometimes 
little things appear on its periphery like dust specks in 
size and seemingly as insignificant. Coming events cast 
their shadows before, it is true ; but very frequently the 
advancing shade bears no resemblence to that which has 
intercepted the light. The world turns, and lo ! what 
appeared only an ink speck on the chart of life now dis- 
covers itself as a dangerous rock, where ships go to wreck. 
What seemed when it happened a petty trifle, of moment- 
ary occurrence, stands out in the glare of after events with 
all the interest of the crisis of a tragedy. 

What more destitute of signs and wondejs, for ex- 
ample, than a low cough from the sitting, crouching figure 
of a gaunt pedestrian under a stupendous oak which Warren 


ID^IALS. 


219 


now passed? But if he had only known the character 
of that dust mote, what a creature lurked in the black hol- 
low, what slinking Death hid in the concealment of the 
gloomy tree all ready to spring, with what an icy chill 
would he have heard the warning, and how easily he could 
have prevented a horror. 

likely spot for a lovers^ tryst,^’said he, with careless 
pleasantry, ‘^or a murder, as you please; that gnarled old 
oak probably has both indiscriminately ^ on tap,^ — as they 
say in Milwaukee in speaking of future contingencies.^’ 

And of what especial interest was it to see the white 
dress of a woman a little further on, in this much frequented 
society resort! Many rambled alone in the evening here. 

But she stands as fixed as a statue, and through a break 
in the clouds and an opening in the trees above her the 
benediction of the moonlight pours down upon her, all 
white from her shilling head to the emerald grass beneath 
her, and her raiment is so lustrous, with a glory so pure 
and angelic, as calmly she stands in majestic, holy stillness, 
gleaming with pale light, — that verily she is unlike a mortal. 
And there is an especial interest to you, Mr. Warren, in 
that face. It is upturned to the heavens, like Guido’s 
Madonna, which you remember in the Tribuna of the Flor- 
entine Gallery,— upraised to those holy sisters, the stars, in 
their wanderings through the cloisters of the sky, — as if 
this fallen star would soon rejoin them. Again the trump 
of the archangel, again buried thoughts rise up, again the 
vision of the spirit-world’s Madonna, and again the earthly, 
dancing Madonna in the sea of the Carnival Ball! 


220 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Yes, she stood before him at last, no longer an elusive 
will-0^- the- wisp, but real, human, actual, unspiritual! 
Probably she was a flesh and blood visitor at his own hotel 
and he would soon know her. His tropical fever and long- 
ing were no longer so parched, for the soothing, beautiful 
equatorial night was round him now, and the footsteps 
that hurried on beyond that holy nun were very light. 

The Ardennes mansion, when Warren had gone a short 
distance within its lawn, appeared closed and dark. In the 
country one goes to bed with that sleepy lark which has 
affected a certain simile with its heavy somnolence, and 
the evening caller was delighted to see that the Ardennes 
larks had put their heads beneath their several wings; in 
his new happiness he wanted to commune with himself 
alone. So he turned back over the road as he had come. 
He hurried a little, for there were wings at his heels, and 
they were not those which Mercury leftt to Perseus, but 
rather those of the son of Aphrodite. He wanted fo see 
again the virgin from whom, as in the paintings, the light 
streamed so divinely. 

The night seemed to be utterly tranquil. No human 
voice was within hearing, no distant laughter, not even a 
barking dog, — interrupted the joyous current of his 
thoughts. Even the leaves and waving boughs no longer 
whispered, and the wayside trees grew solemn, and their 
trunks disappeared in darkness. 

Suddenly, out of the depths before hirii, from down the 
gloomy highway, came a quick, desperate shriek: 

^‘Help!^^ 


IDEALS. 


m 

Once, only, it called, then the yoice seemed to stifle, 
and all was ominously still. As if by a flash of vivid light- 
ning, Warren saw that the girl whom he had lately passed, 
in some way had been assaulted, and he sprang forward 
with the bound of a lion. 

The time-worn Latin motto, ^^a sound mind in a sound 
body,” had been a maxim of his from childhood, and 
he was as agile and strong as many a professional athlete. 
Among other things he had learned the broad-sword exer- 
cise and could wield a stout cane as a man-of-war’s man 
handles a cutlass. Such a cane he carried at night for the 
double purpose of guidance along unknown paths in the 
darkness and for defense in emergencies. 

He reached the Oak, — a veritable Valley of the Shadow 
of Death. A fallen white form, barely visible, lay on the 
ground. As he moved toward it, a haggard, unkempt 
monster, with disordered hair, with soulless protruding 
eyes whose green glare shone like a hound’s in the agony 
of hydropliobia, with the unhuman cry of the murderously 
insane, jumped at him like a maddened, rearing tiger. 

But the tiger had met no unresisting lamb this time. 
Swerving aside, Warren struck with his improvised sword 
at the neck of his gaunt assailant. But the creature, with 
its cat-like quickness, dodged; the blow glanced and only 
struck out a bellow of . pain and anger — not very unlike 
the sound from a cracked alarm-bell. Then, with a sud- 
den stoop and a squirm, the ugly thing sprang with the 
unexpectedness of an adder to bite at Warren’s leg. 

Very quick, you are, my friend, — with your insane 


222 


THE MADONXA OP PASS Cni:lSTIAN. 


cunning/^ but hardly quick enough to clutch and over- 
throw a sword-man who has trained under Signor Attili, 
of Milan! With a step backward and aside, down crashed 
the cane, unerringly, nicely between the sinewy, upraised, 
writhing arms of the strangler, and neatly on the temple 
of the biting head, — and the reptile fell, senseless, or 
dead. 

Then Warren turned to the prostrate white figure 
which lay, alas! so very still. She appeared to have 
been clutched and choked, and seemed all but dead; was 
she entirely so? Or, had her heart stopped but for a 
moment, in a faint from utter horror ? 

He put his arm under the slight waist, raised the 
feathery limp weight, and carried it out from under the 
shadow of the tree into the light of the moon. But the 
latter planet from sympathy, seemed to have fainted too, 
and what was left of a straggling ray from behind a thick 
gray cloud told Warren nothing. At first he could detect 
no signs of life, — in the pulse or the heart. But he 
remembered then how the sense of touch is much more 
acute and delicate in the lips than elsewhere, and so he 
bent his down to the lips of the image of the Ideal of his 
dream-love, to see if there was breathing there. Their 
gentle touch thrilled hers, and she opened her eyes. They 
looked into his. 

Do not fear,” said he, to the Ideal, you are quite 
safe now.” 

^"Thanks,” replied the Real, with a gasp, ^‘thanks, 
awfully.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 

“ Upon thy snow-white shoulders 
I lean my head at rest; 

And secretly I listen 
To the yearning of thy breast. 

In thy heart hussars blue coated 
Are riding and blowing their horn; 

And my darling will surely desert me 
With the earliest streak of morn.” 

On the morrow Simon A. Meeks returned with his cli- 
ent from the Biloxi interview and consultation, and for 
the first time encountered Paul Winthrop Warren. For 
the first time? Why, then, your abrupt, nervous shud- 
der, Counsellor Meeks; the sudden paleness of your unbe- 
lieving, positivist countenance on meeting the gentleman 
who is not of your persuasion? Or why the instant drop- 
ping of your eyelids, followed by a furtive, sidelong look, 
and the speedy though affable departure from the presence 
(welcome — one would think) of the saviour of your future 
wife? You would not have him refresh his memory by 
dwelling long on the sight of your athletic figure? What 
inconvenient recollections, pray, could that graceful, 
feline shape suggest? You danced undulatingly well at 
the ball with your pretty fiancee. Together, you and she 
— you in your midnight Tartarean black and she in pearls 
and woven snow — were as pretty as a picture; that you 

# 223 


224 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


can not regret. Or do you, Counsellor, apprehend that 
he will have some dim counter-picture of that solitary 
dance in which you indulged after the gregarious waltzers 
and the carnival ball had gone home to bed, when the 
tired-out city was sleeping and you had your little Avake- 
ful frolic among those fine buildings that afterwards went 
up in a finer fire; when, the most spectral person of that 
hour so favored by uneasy spirits, your bad shadow danced 
out of the dismal corpse-pit alley to meet with the Boston 
night-errant under the flare of the street gas lamp? 

Whatever was the reason, the history of the two lovers 
on that next day is limited to these few slim facts: — 

Greta kept closely to her room. The nervous shock 
which she had received had made her slightly ill. Whether 
from dawning suspicion of Meeks’ fidelity or from some 
mysterious new instinct just awakened in her toward the 
one whose rebuking eyes had interested her at the ball 
and whose arms had saved her now from death, Greta’s 
interview with her lover was short and cold. During it, 
Meeks said that some New Orleans’ business which he had 
in hand would probably call him to the city for a few 
days. Greta told him to go; her whole system, body, mind 
and heart, she said, had been jarred, and she desired for 
awhile to rest alone. 

‘^Good-bye, Simon, dear,” she said, at their parting, 
don’t mind my ups and downs — women are so change- 
able and wayward, you know. I’ll be all right in a short 
time,” and then she extended him her hand. 

Meeks took it, called her darling,” and bent down 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


225 


and kissed her. But the cold lips were unresponsive, and 
two hours later the forenoon train was carrying him to 
New Orleans. 

Nature photographs occurrences in its realm in a won- 
derful way. Light carries and leaves images. The trees 
mirror one another; a mountain will wear the likeness 
of its opposite neighbor in its own rocky breasts, and 
Cretans soul was marked with Warren^s touch, although 
with an impression as light as the strain of music 
or the perfume that recalls scenes long ago forgotten, 
summoning faces of the dead and songs grown dim 
to memory, back to life in all their original freshness. 
Greta^’s faculties were still as germs; a child, she knew 
nothing of that more mature love which rises in waves of 
rapturous pain and floods the loftiest heights of being with 
its tides of yearning; but the capacity was in her, and there 
are substances very quiet and humdrum in themselves 
which, brought together, develop the passion of dynamite 
and gunpowder. And Greta and Warren were now 
brought together. Already chemical affinity was at work ; 
already Meeks, unknown to all, was being silently precipi- 
tated. Greta^s spirit had begun to breathe more ethereal 
air than that which surrounded that lover, and her eyes 
had begun to look toward the whiteness of a great throne. 

Meanwhile the Mexican Gulf rang with praise of War- 
ren. His adventure was almost a nine days’ wonder, but 
far more wonderful were the spasms of the local press 
when news was received of the battle. The ^Mocal press” 
with its usual horde of night and day editors, reporters, cor- 


226 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


respondents, rival sheets, ^^newsboys, was in Pass Christian 
reduced to the back room of the second story of a carpenter 
shop and the solitary editor there who diffused knowledge 
among men through the art of printing. Pass Christianas 
newspaper was ingeniously named from the Indians who 
once made that coast dangerous, but whose dilapidated de- 
scendants now sold forlorn straw baskets. 

^'AVhy take such trite names as Times, Gazette, World, 
Sun?" thought the inventive editor; 'Hhese are worn 
threadbare ; why not use our home material, such as 
the red men of our town? How did the noble red Amer- 
icans attract attention when they roamed the pathless 
woods?" 

^^The Warwhoop," was therefore his first idea, but 
this was open to the objection of its not being euphonious, 
and the editor thought of the shout of the old Greeks as 
they rushed to battle, and changed it to ^‘Warcry." 
Then he prefixed first, whose warcry; second, the charac- 
ter of the edition — a weekly; third, part of the name of 
our town, abbreviated. In setting type for the first edi- 
tion after it had been newly named, the compositor, who 
was also the editor, through absence of mind, misspelled 
^'weekly;" the first number thus appeared: — 

^^The P. Christian Indian’s Weakly Warcry." 

In Warren’s day this had been shortened to: — 

^^The Weekly Warcry." 

The Warcry was aided and abetted by Miss Witherd, 
native poetess, a young lady who for a great many years 
had never wished to marry." When Mr. Warren’s gal- 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


227 


lantry was brought to her attention (with the incidental 
facts that he was young, good-looking and marriageable,) • 
she composed a sort of a prose epic for the Warcry. Again 
did the editorial type-setter suffer fatal lapses of mem- 
ory. Miss Witherd had intended to send a marked copy 
of the printed poem to Warren ^^with compliments of the 
authoress;” she changed her mind when she found that 
one of her choicest similes had been shrieked by the un- 
manageable Warcry: — 

^^As Bellerophone ” [No relation of the telephone] 
"invaded the Chinese with his Peggasus, so this valiant 
knight, like Saint George to the maiden, rescuing her 
from the dragon of our peaceful village with his cane.” 

Which means, I suppose,” said Warren, when the 
inspiration was shown him, “ thsit as Bellerophon flew 
upon his winged horse into the chimera's den, so I upon 
my cane, — like a witch on her broomstick.” 

The Dragon of Our Peaceful Village was of course the 
farmer whose nightly hunts for the Nightingale's buried 
treasures had changed to hunts for other hunters. On the 
very evening of his assault on Greta, the town police had 
been telegraphed ''to look out for him,” and they took 
that advice home to themselves. Their deranged neigh- 
bor had recently made a murderous attack on a keeper, 
and by one of those accidents which will happen, the excel- 
lent town police were on that night engaged elsewhere than 
near the former haunts of the madman. But Warren had 
now broken a safe number of his misguided bones and the 
valorous guardians of the public safety soon sent him where 
he could not molest outsiders again. 


228 


THE MADONNA OP PASS CHRISTIAN. 


With Mr. Meeks away Warren realized that the prob- 
lem was now open to his solution which his brother psychol- 
ogist, Rattler, had proposed. However, since then it had 
been complicated by an ethical puzzle, which made War- 
ren ponder. 

To Warren, Greta owed her life. The strongest grati- 
tude must draw her to him. Should he take advantage of 
it to win her (if possible) from her plighted faith to 
another? True, if he could accept Judge Rattler^s descrip- 
tion, the engagement was to the son of the Father of Lies. 
But Rattler had besought this gardener to guide the young 
plant whose tendrils were climbing so astray, for a motive 
pure and disinterested. He wanted her introduced to the 
attractions of Science, to have her fall in love with them, 
that she might undertake study which would train her 
mind until it judged wisely whether to discard Meeks in 
playing the game of life. 

His dream romance, its realization at the ball, the sub- 
sequent sense of loss, that song which thrilled him so in 
the lonely watches of the night along St. Charles, — he 
thought were all Tempters. To decide whether he should 
aid her, he must rigorously exclude all consideration of 
his own advantage. RattleFs proposal had interested him 
as a metaphysical problem, but he countenanced it only 
because it was a happy device which, on the one hand, 
could do Meeks no injustice, and which, on the other, 
would open Greta’s eyes to whatever the truth might be. 
If Greta was a child entrapped, the very reason why he 
should point her to Science, forbade drawing her to him. 


MOTPIER AUD DAUGHTER. 


329 


Then his mind went back through a certain number of 
years, to Eve, who also was helped to the Tree of Knowl- 
edge. He remembered that Eve had no sooner eaten when 
she educated her male companion to his destruction. How 
suggestive that parable was! Might not Greta in return 
administer to Warren his own medicine of heart-controlling 
knowledge? To begin as the doctor, and end as the 
patient, — how mortifying! 

‘^Perhaps a letter from home will soon take me away,^^ 
he hoped, willing that some such chance should decide the 
case. By the next mail he was desired, on account of 
Southern business matters, to wait advices where he was! 
And thus St. Anthony found himself a prisoner to the 
temptation of beauty. 

But introspection finally told him that he was making 
the hasty and not unusual error of bridging and going to 
the further side of a ohasm ahead before he had yet reached 
the hither shore. His interest in Greta was founded on 
her statuesque beauty and the fancies of a nap in church. 
Further acquaintance might brush all this away like so 
much cobweb. • Then could he be the philanthropist and 
not the lover in disguise. So Mr. Warren, like other per- 
plexed judges, sensibly reserved his decision,” and took 
but one step at a time. 

It was the subtle power of mystery which, for the time 
being, constituted Greta’s highest charm, though neither 
she nor Warren then recognized it. The master-passion 
of curiosity, awakened in Warren by the strange coinci- 
dence or prophesy of a dream, warmed by excitement and 


230 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


danger, had fed itself by continued suspense. But now the 
vail of mystery before the holy one was, from top to bot- 
tom, to be rent in twain, and chiefly by the most ordinary 
passage of conversation in the world. 0 gaily- appareled 
damsels, fishers of men, — why scare away the trout by talk- 
ing without cause, when if you would only sit quietly in 
the most-approved-fashionable-boarding-school posture 
you would surely hook your fish? Unpremeditated words, 
inadvertent gestures, disturb the piscatorial calm, reveal 
disguise, show what is within, and tell what fruit the tree 
bears. And amateur psychologists know you by your 
fruit. 

One of them was at breakfast in the Mexican Gulf 
Hotel, on the third day after Greta’s adventure. That 
young lady had now quite recovered, and, with her mother, 
sat on the opposite side of the table from the mind- 
reader, who was (apparently) engaged with waiter and bill 
of fare. 

Greta, said her mother, tenderly, would you enjoy 
a drive this afternoon, — dear? I want so much to get 
out, if you will, and take the fresh air and view the 
scenery/’ 

‘‘0 shoot the fresh air and the scenery!” was the 
filial and expressive answer. hate driving. I won’t 
go. So that’s all there is about it.” 

This emphatic and intense rejoinder produced no per- 
ceptible effect on the gentleman engaged with the bill of 
fare. But as the mineralogist in the gold regions from a 
casual inspection of quartz, quietly makes up his mind^ so 
Warren had weighed Greta and found her wanting. 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER, 


231 


That bit of unpremeditated talk of yours, my dear 
Evangeline, is like a broken and fallen twig. Some one 
sees it lying on the ground and distinguishes nothing. 
Another, a botanist, closely attends and discerns the 
detached twig to be either from the tall and noble poplar, 
or from the scrubby jack oak. If your vocal specimens, 
Evangeline, disclose a tree of the stunted variety, the 
logical botanist will know approximately of your other 
unamiable characteristics without your telling him out- 
right. To do Greta justice, however, it must be admitted 
that she could, if she wished, restrain herself a little; and 
she was, thereafter, on her good behavior in Warren’s 
presence. As she confided to him later— much later — 
when near him she felt ‘‘ just as if she was in church and 
that she must be nice and good and demure; not an 
uncomfortable church, you know;” she added, but a 
grand, beautiful, full of music church where there are 
nice seats and lots of nice people.” 

Had not this church been so intent, seemingly, on get- 
ting corn bread, poached eggs, and soft-shell crabs, Greta 
would not have revealed her nature quite so very soon, but 
Warren at once concluded that the beautiful daughter was 
only a living statue, a woman without a soul, a kind of an 
ivory Galatea, into whom no sculptor Pygmalion had 
ever breathed the breath of life. Before this exhibition of 
stony hardness, coldness, selfishness, and coarseness, all 
Warren's tender sentiment fiew away like gentle mist before 
a hurricane, and only the interest remained of a scientific 
explorer who thinks to benefit by opening up savage 
regions to civilization. 

o 


232 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


While the fashion- made, hard, cold Greta seemed cut 
from flint-rock, while her beauty of mind was that of a 
stoic, grim, flerce and defiant, her mother was full of the 
harmony and peace given by no other philosophy than that 
which was enounced by the Son of God. About her mother 
was a bright other-worldiness which sometimes struck from 
the flinty daughter a fire not unlike the smothered hate of 
those who gnashed their teeth when the face of the martyr 
Stephen shone as it had been an angel. The heavenly still 
presence, close by her own internal discord made its jar- 
ring seem the noisier and more disagreeable. The dawn 
of a beautiful eternity made the night which surrounded 
Greta all the more black. 

So they talked, — the mother, so lost to self ; the daugh- 
ter, so lost in self. Perhaps the girl had a sudden glimpse 
of her ties to a man to wdiom religion was a jest, and of a 
fast voyage with him on the rapid stream of pleasure, while 
the mother, on still waters, beheld the looming of the Valley 
of the Shadow, with only one gleam of golden light shin- 
ing through from the gates to the city beyond the river. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


ENTERING THE ENCHANTED GROUND. 

“ This is the old enchanted wood, 

Sweet lime trees scent the wind, 

The glamour of the moon has cast 
A spell upon my mind.” 

Mr. Warren/^ said Greta, ^^I am going to tell you 
something which I know will horrify you.^^ 

It was nearly a week since the maniac had made the 
speaker acquainted with the gentleman who was now walk- 
ing by her side. At this moment the tree under which their 
introduction occurred was close at hand. It looked very 
amiable now, in the pleasant afternoon, and its branches 
courtesied affably in the breeze. 

Well, — horrify me,^^ said her companion. 

I’m an Ingersollian Chicago infidel ! 

Well ?” 

Well! Isn’t thatawfql ?”* 

^‘1 guessed as much when I first saw you by daylight.” 

“ Ah ?” and she lifted her laughing gray eyes to his. 

Do I look so very, very wicked ?” 

You are like some pigeons in the South Pacific.” 

‘‘Real pretty?” 

“They were once.” 

“ Once ! Monster, explain ! ” 


•^34 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

“ Once upon a time a rich Spanish-Anierican planter, 
wholivea on an island off the coast of San Salvador, had 
on his estate a carefully gatherea flock of beautiful tame 
pigeons. They were adorned with many shades of color 
and different markings. But there came a plague which 
devastated the little island. Nearly every human being 
died. Those left alive, among whom was this planter, 
abandoned the island for the mainland, expecting never to 
return. Time passed. Wild beasts crept into the deserted 
homes. What were once ladies^ bowers became now the dens 
of wolves and panthers. Savage vines grew over them, and 
the whole was a wilderness. 

'^After many years this planter re-visited, by accident, 
the now un-inhabited waste. He discovered that the 
beautiful tame pigeons which had flown off into the woods 
had, in the interval, strangely altered. The birds, or, 
rather, their descendants, had lost the infinite ornamenta- 
tions of their race, and had all become changed into one 
and the same color. Black, white, dun, striped, spotted, 
ringed, — were all metamorphosed into a dull slate-blue. 
Two black bands were monotonously on each wing, and 
the loins were all white;. but all the variety of beautiful 
colors, all the old grace of form, had vanished. Their 
improvement had resulted from careful nurture and civil- 
ization. Now that these influences were removed, the 
birds themselves undid their domestication and lost what 
they had gained. The attempt to elevate the race had 
been thwarted. Some rigorous law made the birds discard 
their badges of advancement and conform to the ruder 
image of the remote blue ancestor.” 


EJS’TERING THE ENCHANTED GROUND, 


235 


‘‘ So, you think that Tve been allowed to fly off into 
the woods until my mental complexion is a 'dull slaty 
blue?^ Do you?” pouted the Galatea. "Anymore flat- 
tering comparisons. Sir?” 

"Also, you remind me of a famous garden.” 

"Good! Better, 1 mean. Gardens do not fly 

into woods and get blue.” 

" There was a queen^s garden, once, all planted with 
magnificent roses and cultured strawberries. The queen 
was Zenobia. Her city. Palmyra, was captured by Aurel- 
ian and destroyed. Amid the desolation left by the 
Roman legions, bushes and vines ran to waste. Gradually 
they changed. As invariably happens in cases of neglect, 
their alteration was for the worse. The luscious straw- 
berry reverted to the small wild one, and the masses of 
fragrant petals degenerated into the primitive dog rose.” 

" What does that prove?” asked Greta. 

" If we neglect a bird it gradually becomes uglier; a 
neglected plant, naturally, deteriorates into a poorer vari- 
ety. Almost all the domestic animals rapidly backslide, 
if left to themselves, and become worthless.” 

" Is it me you^re aiming at, mean thing?” 

"A similar reversion would happen to you or me. Why 
should we be excepted from nature’s laws? In relation to 
the physical world we are only sub-kingdom vertebrata. 
What your Darwin — 'Chicago Infidel!^ — called the law 
of -reversion to type, governs creation. A few years^ neg- 
lect will make a man worse and lower. Neglect the 
body and it becomes wild, bestial, or savage; — like the 


236 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHKISTJAN. 


dehumanized men sometimes discovered on desert islands. 
The mind un-trained grows imbecile or mad; solitary con- 
finement can leave the prisoner an idiot. An un-tilled con- 
science runs off into vice, and the un-tilled soul wastes 
away, until the ruin drops off decayed.'’^ 

‘‘I guess my soul,” she said, ‘‘is in a pretty bad way, 
isn't it, Mr. Warren?” 

“ If you do not hoe your garden, will it not run to 
weeds?” he replied; “if you no longer till the garden of 
your soul, will it not retrograde and relapse?” 

“ Why do you believe that there is a God?” she asked. 
“I have never seen him. I don’t understand the machin- 
ery of creation; but, with all the torture there is in this 
world, you can not induce me to believe in the existence of 
that Father of Love about whom the Bible prates.” 

“ You see a house, and see no builder near it. Do you 
therefore conclude that the house built itself ? We see 
this bright world; we see the stars rise and set, and the 
flowers come and go, while the hand which guides them is 
invisible. Shall we therefore conclude that they have no 
maker?” 

“If there is such a personage,” she exclaimed, “he 
seems unduly fond of drawing the long bow. A book 
containing such fish stories as the whale swallowing Jonah 
to make him repent; Joshua commanding the sun to 
stand still one day until the bloodthirsty Lord and his 
chosen people could ‘avenge themselves on their enemies' 
(so it says) — jarring the clock-work of the solar system 
more frightfully than the notorious time-piece of ‘My 


ENTERING THE ENCHANTED GROUND. 


237 


Grandfatlier^s, — never to go again;’ a vagabond prophet 
causing slie-bears to rend innocent little children for 
calling him bald, and then going sky-wards in a fiery 
chariot rocket; the erotic canticle of that Chanticleer, 
naughty old Solomon: — Well, all this may impose on the 
credulity of your blue pigeons, and your de-humanized 
savages, but not, believe me, on this wild strawberry ! ” 
Greta rattled this off with considerable feeling. After 
a sober pause, Warren replied: — 

• '^Many too hastily conclude from the Bible’s imper- 
fections, that it is a priestly imposture. This is partly the 
fault of theologians who for centuries have assured people 
that it is infallible — a claim that it does not make for itself, 
nor has God said so. Those whose education is defective 
inevitably misunderstand it, — treating it all alike and 
pressing every word equally. Have you had so much 
experience of the way men have thought and spoken 
for nineteen centuries back, that you can translate the 
thoughts of men who wrote thousands of years ago? 
Their language was literary, not scientific; fluid and 
passing, not rigid and fixed. Surely, only long culture 
can give you experience enough to know what to take and 
what to translate.” 

I have been trained to regard the Bible as ^sacred,’ — 
every page equal, and not varying in value,” she said ; 
retort with their own teachings. The Lord’s Prayer is no 
more worthy of veneration, nor the resurrection more 
credible, than the absurd assertion that the great river 
Nile was turned into blood by the heathen human jug- 


238 


THE MADONKA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


gleries of pagan Egyptian magicians. If the writer had 
stopped with the statement that Moses, by divine power, 
had worked a miracle, devout people might not insult 
their God-given intelligence by accepting it. But a liar 
is never satisfied. 

Greta had learned this lesson from her affianced. 

“ There was a time, my universal skeptic, when all 
parts of the Bible stood not on the same footing, and 
were not taken equally,” said Warren. “Once books were 
read as part of the Bible which are in no Bible now. At 
another period, books which now are in every Bible, were 
by many disallowed as genuine. Athanasius rejected 
parts of our present collection. Greek Christians in the 
East rejected the Apocalypse, while Latin Christians in 
the West (our church forefathers) denied the Epistle to 
the Hebrews. And at last, instead of getting where they 
are now by thorough trial of their claims, they became so 
placed by force of circumstances, chance or routine, 
rather than on their merits.” 

“How did they settle,” queried Greta; “cast lots, 
shuffie the books and draw?” 

“ As medieval ignorance deepened, the discussion died 
out. No longer was there enough knowledge or criticism 
left in the world to keep alive such a debate.” 

“What then?” 

“And so things went on until the Renaissance,” 
explained Warren. “Then criticism again came to 
life. But by that time the Romish Church had adopted 
the separate books which now compose the Bible. 


ENTERING THE ENCHANTED GROUND. 


239 


Her authority was concerned in maintaining the cor- 
rectness of her decisions. On the other hand, the 
Protestant leaders, Luther and Calvin, recurred to the 
notion of a difference in rank and genuineness among 
Bible writings. Kome taunted them with their divisions 
and their want of a fixed authority like the church, and 
later Protestants were thus driven to make this collec- 
tion their fixed authority. It came to be regarded as a 
thing all of a piece, endowed with talismanic virtues and 
something like an artificial charm, mysteriously different 
from what it had ever been originally, or from what prim- 
itive times had ever imagined it. This has made very 
difficult a discriminating use of the Bible documents.” 

As an interesting literary work,” she replied, I 
donT object to studying it; but how can I read such a 
thing with understanding?” 

If you will not accept what able and honest clergymen 
say, to be an able judge for yourself, of course, you must 
get culture, — true culture.” 

‘^Just exactly what mean you by 'true culchaw,’ Mr. 
Bostonian?” 

“ Tact and delicacy of judgment, — so formed by knowl- 
edge.” 

^'0, must I go back to school,” said the girl, with a 
doleful sigh; "once I hated study. Yet— -do you believe 
I ought to shut myself up in a convent ?” 

Warren hesitated. 

" The importance of culture to such a mind as yours 
is incalculable,” he said, after a pause; "the fields and 


240 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


woods around you have an alphabet which the illiterate 
and unscientific can not interpret, but by which you could 
learn to read that divine book, 'the universe.'"^ 

" Teach me one or two of the letters now,” she coaxed. 

They were in an open meadow, where wild flowers 
grew. Warren stooped and carefully pulled up a little 
violet. Holding it before her, he drew her attention to 
the shiny black earth clinging to its tiny white rootlets. 

"There,” said he, "is a miracle, — the resurrection 
from the dead. No chemistry, no electricity, no change 
of substance, nor any form of energy can endov/ one atom 
of that dead earth with life. Only when some living 
thing bends down into it, can it become alive. Once this 
globe was all mineral, — all dead. To support their claim 
that there was no Ood, atheists saw that they must prove 
that a senseless rock must have made a vegetable. For 
years they struggled to generate vegetable life with heat 
and moisture, and trying all possible conditions of cli- 
mate, and different kinds of soil. They failed. 'LHq had io 
come from some Power without. Was that power a dead 
machine, think you?” 

" The borderland between the dead and the living is 
certainly strange,” she said, thoughtfully. 

"Yes,” he replied ; "the infidel is silent there. Every 
mathematician knows that 'force is indestructible.' The 
amount of work in a watch, for example, might be calcu- 
lated in the machinery, big and little, that has labored 
upon it — the human hands and the human brains; the 
mechanism is from the labor of the machinery and the 


ENTERING THE ENCHANTED GROUND. 


241 


hand; the design comes from the brain. Look arouiul ns 
and tell me what there is that could have made us ; is it 
that granite boulder ? or that tree ? or that swamp ? or 
that sea ? Or, assuming that our very remote ancestors 
were baboons, or some other beast that can not talk, was it 
easier for this stone and the sea- water to make them? Or, 
perhaps you think that the moon made us, and gave us 
the power of reasoning as we do?^’ 

^^Not unless we are lunatics, and I don^t guess we are, 
she answered, quickly. give in.” 

^^You know of the folly of the so-called ^perpetual 
motion,^” he continued; 'ignorant or insane inventors 
have fancied that by imparting ten pounds of force, say, 
to some sufficiently artful contrivance, that the latter 
might go on forever, exerting an infinite number of ten 
pounds. Force, however, is not only 'indestructible,^ but 
no greater amount can be effected than is contained in the 
cause. Our eyes tell us that thinking, personal beings 
walk this earth; can the dead rocks and moon and stars 
impart the brains or mind which they do not possess? 
Can an impersonal machine make a personal being? This 
world has no power to do so, the moon none, the sun none, 
any number of suns, — or the stars — none; each separately 
is, to you, as zero. Add a countless number of zeros 
together, and you have? — zero. Can nothing make noth- 
ing out of nothing? Can a horseshoe or any mass of iron 
or steel invent a watch? Can earth or sun invent you? ” 
"Mr. Warren,” said Greta, earnestly, "you incline 
me to believe in a thinking, personal God.” 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 

“The holy God dwells in the light 
As in the dark abysses, 

For God is every thing that is : 

His breath is in our kisses.” 

^ But although you induce belief in a personal crea- 
tor,” she added, ‘‘I do not therefore deduce faith in the 
swimming of the prophePs axe or in the resurrection of 
the crucified Roman prisoner.” 

Discard the axe, Jonah and the whale, and all else of 
the Old Testament that seems to you improbable, remem- 
bering only that you should treat it with a courtesy due 
the cherished and loved belief of so many millions of trust- 
ing hearts. For you do not need the credulity of the 
ancient Jews to become a Christian. (Yet, with many, the 
Bible, like a candle, needs no argument to prove that it 
illuminates.) The obscure traditions of the earliest ages 
are not authenticated like the gospel narratives. Whether 
Noah’s ark could hold all that a long subsequent writer 
claimed, is not the foundation of Christianity. I don’t 
want to convert you to Judaism. That is superseded. 
Here and there in its deserted chambers is a (seemingly) 
broken arch or tottering wall; remember that the only 
Jewish synagogue which God helped build^ Solomon’s 
Temple, ^has not one stone left upon another.’ We 

242 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 


243 


should so reason concerning the Nazarene, that our train 
of thought will not be clogged with doubts and misgiv- 
ings that may innocently exist as to Jewish testimony, 
which, whether true or not, is either immaterial or 
merely cumulative and unnecessary.^' 

“ Well," she said, I admit the existence of an Infi- 
nite Person whose image we faintly reflect. What then ?" 

‘‘ Do you think that this Infinite Power would plan in- 
telligent minds and fit them to receive Revelation, and 
then refuse to give them any ? nor tell them why life was 
worth living ? — what to live for ?" 

It surely seems unlikely," she admitted, that One 
who placed Himself in the position of a parent and brought 
children into a pleasant world (which He made pleasant 
for them) — should then refuse to talk to them afterwards. 
That's absurd. I suppose He could talk if He wished?" 

Our power of speech was given by Him, and one can 
not give what he does not already possess. May we con- 
clude that He could address us, that it was natural in the 
great pa^’ent to do so, and therefore that he probably 
did?" 

Yes," replied Greta. 

^^Turn your attention next to the various religions of 
the world; which of them is God-given, and which from 
man? The Hottentot in the jungles of Africa bowing 
before his grinning idol tells you of the instinct placed in 
the human heart to seek an object of worship. In some 
cases man has answered that search by holding out such as 
the Book of Mormon; would the Deity be less kind than 


24 : 4 : THE MADON'NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

Jo Smith? Would he refuse to gratify the reverential 
instinct which He Himself has. created? You do not 
observe that instinct in baboons or dogs. But whenever 
untutored man acts in the strength of mere nature we are 
met by spectacles which, however sad, are yet sublime 
witnesses of that spiritual craving, that wordless prayer 
which it would be cruel to inspire and then deny (and God 
can not be cruel). Visit the banks of some lone Indian 
river where the Hindoo superstition still reigns supreme) 
and you find that you had not even there descended to arank 
of humanity where an invisible world was denied or for- 
gotten.” 

I’m. not entirely an infidel,” said Greta; ‘^I’m a sort 
of a Buddhist. I once read in the Chicago Tribune ^ that 
the lives and doctrines of the founders of the Buddhist 
and Christian religions coincide y that the conclusion to 
which honest inquirers are forced is that one account 
must necessarily be a copy of the other ; and, that since 
the Buddhist biographer, living long before the birth of 
Christ, could not have borrowed from the Christian one, 
the plain inference is that the early creed-mongers of 
Alexandria wrote of imaginary facts suggested by the 
Buddhist religion.^” 

^‘That newspaper man did not write, perhaps, with 
the kind object of cheering and sustaining the fond hopes 
of those who believe that this sorrowful life is not all,” 
said Warren, ^^but rather to get notoriety, or to make 
money. Their mercenary considerations taint such claims 
with suspicion even before they can be fairly heard. 


THE DOUBTIInG GBETA. 


24:0 


Infidel writing is always sensational, invested as it is with 
dread of a black abysmal future, i. e., the ^ spice of dan- 
ger;^ skeptical authors have found that an easy road to 
fame and wealth, and thus you have the strange persistent 
perversion of facts and the strenuous arguments in favor 
of atheism. It is not so just to claim that Christians per- 
vert truth to uphold Christianity and the doctrine of 
Eternal Life. Of course those who have called themselves 
Christians often have lied and practiced impositions, but 
surely the general tendency of their religion is towards 
truth and purity of knowledge ; the absolutely pure see 
God and His surroundings. Atheists have nothing to lose 
— in this world at least — by maintaining a lie. Christians 
do lose by maintaining, in practice, a self-sacrificing relig- 
ion, and pure, intelligent, good Christians — and there are 
millions of such — would not uphold a sham. Distrust 
attends the sensational and skeptical assertions made on 
all sides to-day, so frivolous when probed to the bottom, 
and which weary me like flies on a sultry day. But what 
were the particulars, what where the parallels drawn 
between the lives and histories of Buddha and the Chris- 
tian leader ?” 

GabrieBs visit to Mary,” said Greta, was compared 
with the dream of Maya (Buddha^s mother) about a white 
elephant from Heaven entering her side.” 

It certainly is a strange analogy,” said Warren, with 
a smile, ^ Ho claim that Gabriel sounding the last trump 
resembles an elephant blowing its trumpet.” 

‘‘Then it spoke of a large number of similarity in 


246 


THE MADOXXA OF PASS CHRISTIAX. 


words between the New Testament and the Buddhist writ- 
ings/’ continued Greta, also smiling; ‘^for instance, how 
Matthew wrongly spoke of the danger of founding a house 
on sand where Buddha, from whom he copied, wrote of 
the weakness of a house of sand ; it said that ‘ houses are 
well known to stand strongest upon a good foundation of 
sand.’” 

“I am strongly tempted always,” rejoined Warren, 
“ to treat such pleas with the silence of deserved con- 
tempt. If similar claims were made in some trial before 
an intelligent court, they would be dismissed with a sneer 
as unworthy quibbles. Whether some sand may or may 
not be a good foundation for a house is not the question. 
Matthew did not say that it was not; what he did say was 
that a house built upon certain sand got into trouble. It 
would not be well to found a house on quick-sands ; every 
ocean traveler knows how the sea upheaves and tears away 
the coast — or its friable portions, leaving only solid rock. 
Brighton Beach structures at Coney Island were reared on 
sand, and what was the result? I have been in the Medi- 
terranean on the coast of Palestine when it would not have 
been deemed exactly wise to found one’s house on sands. 
But why argue gravely with a writer who seriously utters 
such folly ! If his inferences for which he confesses his 
reasons are so absurdly incorrect, how can we trust his con- 
clusions some of the reasons for which are not open to our 
personal scrutiny?” 

'^It seemed to me,” said Greta, ‘^that there were 
really some very peculiar coincidences in the writings, 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 


24 : 


wliich I have now forgotten, but which made it clear to 
me that one set was copied from the other.^^ 

I very willingly assume that such was the case;’’ said 
Warren; ^^what is the original source of the evidence that 
the Buddhist writings were older than the Christian? 
The bigoted, narrowly-educated Indian priests. The 
internal power of Christianity has raised its followers in 
light above all the rest of the world ; Buddhism has left 
its haunts sunk in Cimmerian darkness. From the buried 
depths of such darkness these claimants get their priestly 
testimony. On the other hand we know that the early 
Christian missionaries went far East, taking the gospels 
with them. From those gospels the Indian priests either 
devised the story of Buddha entire, or, if Buddha was 
really earlier than Christ, they super-added to the more 
primitive tale the suggestions made by the gospels. As 
they claim now that the likeness of our gospels to theirs 
proves the former to be a mere copy, they might, in order 
to counteract the threatening power of Christianity, 
seeing its force, have devised that copy just to support 
such a claim. Even in this enlightened day, how 
uncertain we are of facts even so recent as our last 
war; consider the discussions on the Fitz-John Porter 
case, or, concerning General Meade at Gettysburg. What 
history gives an absolutely truthful and impartial account 
of that war ? Not one. The Buddhist priests have not 
treasured up evidence that their claim is false, and no one 
else was in a position to do so. No shrewd lawyer, accus- 
tomed to weigh and sift evidence, would pnt th^^ least 


248 


THE MADOHl^A OF PASS CIIIIISTIAX. 


faith in all that Buddhism may choose to solemnly swear. 
Uncertain as we are as to the events of twenty years ago, 
how utterly inconsistent and absurd it is to claim any- 
thing in favor of India traditions alleged to have begun 
over two thousand years ago, and which never had that 
light of hostility and criticism thrown upon them that 
illuminated Christianity! 

And said Greta, ‘‘ would just as lief admit that 
if Christ came once upon the earth in Palestine, that he 
might have come before,- in India, calling himself Buddha, 
and have shaped the sayings and doings about alike so 
that the East Indians and the West might have an equal 
chance. So the resemblance proves nothing.'’^ For a 
mometit Greta paused. Then she again returned to the 
attack: — 

‘"I suppose power is one criterion, she observed, of 
a religion come from God. The Mohammedans are the 
most numerous, are they not?^^ 

•^Mahomet described his paradise in minute and seduc- 
tive detail. The result was indifference to life, — a fatalism 
which indeed made the Moslem armies, like the pagan 
Komans, desperately brave, but which at the same time 
checked active industries, stopped progress, founded des- 
potisms, and paralyzed all the limbs of a healthy state. 
Does your intelligence tell you that can be a true relig- 
ion?^’ 

No.” 

‘^Another thing. Imposters cater to the usual appe- 
tite for knowing things beyond this life. Fraud can not 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 


249 


be detected in matters beyond finite experience. No one 
comes back from the unseen world to dispute the celestial 
topography of the Koran with his own discoveries there. 
The very success of the Koran proves how easily Jesus could 
have enlisted disciples from the selfish mob around him, 
had he condescended to tempt their greed. Fraud would 
have led boldly iiito the very regions of thought where 
Christ gave only the vaguest glimpses.” 

‘^But he might have been a fanatic?” she suggested, 
‘^an honest fanatic?” 

“Religious delusion — every insane asylum tells us — 
always has the realm beyond mortal vision for its field; 
and history tells us that the imagined revelations from the 
brain of fanatics are ultra-mundane. But Jesus tells 
nothing. Neither do the Apostles, except the poetical 
writer who personified Death as riding on a pale horse, 
and who compared heaven to a city of jewels. But I am 
anticipating,” said Warren, “I don't want, either, to 
thrust all this upon you.” 

The afternoon was yet long; there was nothing to do 
in the somnolent village but walk and talk, and Greta did 
not think she could spend the time better than by an 
excursion into the new world of philosophy whose portals 
Warren had partly opened. But she suggested that they 
had better find a quiet - and retired spot where they could 
sit down and talk uninterruptedly. The white paling 
fence of the Catholic cemetery was near by, and Greta 
led the way into that retreat and towards a spot, known 
to her, all shaded and enclosed by heavy cypresses. In 


250 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the fine mild day all was tranquil and at peace; the 
soft sweet air crept through the branches around them, 
and not a sound reached them but the gentle rustling of 
the leaves. There was a row of aged, moss-grown tomb- 
stones there, all leaning awry out of the perpendicular, 
like weather-beaten, superannuated soldiers who once . 
stood erect in ranks, but who now hobbled and bent and 
limped on their way to eternity. These decrepit slabs 
Greta told him, marked the graves of the Nightingale' s 
crew, — the four survivors who had died with the Yellow 
Fever, one after another. On the tombstone of the first 
who had perished, Greta pointed out the lichen-covered 
inscription : 

“ Brother — so of us— so our own, 

So lately such as we, 

How can we think the letter’d stone 
So simple, means eternity.” 

On the next, erected by his faithful messmates, was 
the exhortation: 

“ Take warning friends, as you pass bj*. 

As you are now, so once w^as I, 

As I am now, so you must be, 

Prepare for death and follow me.” 

Warren suggested, when Greta had briefly stated the 
substance of their story, that sailors are noted for their 
habitual care in marking the last resting-place of a 
deceased comrade, taking measures for it immediately after 
his death, — a habit probably arising from the fact that his 
relatives are always far away, and may afterwards long to 
find the place of their loved one; that in these instances as 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 


251 


soon as Yellow Fever had stricken one, the remainder doubt- 
less ordered a stone and deposited with the village mar- 
ble-cutter payment and such poetry as their literacy could 
muster. Over the third grave was recorded the uneasy 
meditation of the fourth and last survivor of the crew: — 

‘ Alone, dear Johnny, I am pondering here. 

For you have left me in this world of woe 
With none, alas! my lonely life to cheer. 

And fate will haunt me still where’er I go.” • 

The fourth grave was that of the ex-pirate helmsman? 
who had watched on deck while Dane and Dona Julia in 
the cabin below murdered the Sehora’s husband. Some 
pitying villager, probably, had not forgotten even him, and 
his monument told Greta and Warren: 

“This lovely plant so choice and fair, 

Called hence by Yellow doom, 

Just come to show how sweet a flower. 

In paradise would bloom.” 

A little apart from the other four was the crumbling 
marble which showed where their chief had been laid to 
rest, accompanied only by the words, I am the resurrec- 
tion and the life, he that believeth in me, though he were 
dead, yet shall he live.’^ 

Mr. Warren,” said Greta, as they sat down under the 
cypress and pine trees, why should I " believe ^ on that 
One? Give me some of the reasons why I should place 
any faith in that story? If told of any other person, or in 
some other century, it would have been deemed fabulous 
nonsense.” 

I don’t know that it would,” said Warren, dryly. 


252 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CIIIIISTIAN. 


Through all the five thousand years during which 
liuman beings have populated this earth, no similar tale 
has been told of any one of them; if it even is, if it is 
authenticated by equally trustworthy evidence, you will 
not find me among the blind who declare that white is 
black/^ 

“ Tell me all about it, please, she asked. 

Christianity, like science,'^ Warren began, “ is based 
partly on history. So far it depends on human state- 
ments. Herodotus Avas grossly credulous; Aristotle 
and Pliny maintained the most absurd opinions about 
the natural phenomena which they describe: yet no 
one doubts their trustworthiness as to what they them- 
selves had witnessed. The alleged or admitted mis- 
apprehensions and errors of ancient or biblical writers do 
not necessarily invalidate their testimony as to facts com- 
ing within their personal knowledge. True witnesses 
make mistakes every day in court. After the first two or 
three centuries, history reveals the Gospels as expressly 
quoted, and generally by name, in references to the events 
they recorded. Farther back toward the first century, 
history shows them still quoted by name, but less and less 
often ; finally, writers, contemporary with the Apostles, 
though their juniors, refer to Gospel events sometimes in 
almost the very words of the evangelists, yet without naming 
them. If the Gospels were not really written by those 
from Avhom they are named ; if they had been written later, 
or forged, or merely compiled from originals, they could not 
have been received as authentic at the time Ave know they 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 




wore. If doubtful on any ground, the latter would have been 
debated or disputed among Christians, and these disputes 
would have left ineffaceable traces in the early literature. 

Moreover, the language of these books is Hellenistic 
Greek, — a transfusion of Hebrew idioms into Greek forms. 
Almost every sentence betrays the Hebrew origin of the 
evangelists ; they must have been born Jews. In the 
very first century, Jewish and Gentile Christians became 
bitter enemies, their feuds having started even while some 
of the Apostles were still alive. If post-apostolic Jews 
had written the Gospels, they would have been rejected by 
Gentile churches, who confided only in the apostles and 
their contemporaries. From the latter, therefore, came 
the Gospels which the Gentiles received and transmitted 
on to us.” 

^^That proves the general antiquity of these books, 
but nothing more,” said Greta ; ^^as others who are skep- 
tical as to their veracity admit that they were written 
about 1900 years ago, I will, too. What then ?” 

When the author's name is attached to a book with 
its earliest mention, and so remains unquestioned through 
generations, the conclusion is that the name properly 
belongs there. The histories of Herodotus and Thu- 
cydides are known to be theirs only on this ground, we 
having nodetailed account of their publication. The four 
gospels were called by their present names as far back as 
their existence can be traced. The critical scholar Origen, 
who lived in the second century, quotes and criticises so 
as to identify his gospels with our own. He writes that 


254 


THE MADOJq'NA OF PASS ClIIilSTIAK. 


they were universally received in liis time as unquestioned 
authority, — as apostolic documents. They could not have 
been manufactured in the second century, during his life- 
time, for if so, their authority would have been questioned 
by those who knew when they were not. Irenaeus, of 
Asia Minor, bishop of Gaul, was of the generation whence 
Origen derived his information. Irenaeus’ accounts of 
the Gospels agree with Origen’s, and his copious quota- 
tions and minute descriptions show that his were the 
same. Irenaeus received his Christian traditions from 
intimate friends of the Apostles, and who could not have 
mistaken the books purporting to emanate from that 
circle. Contemporary with Irenaeus was Celsus, a writer 
against Christianity, and a direct witness to the fact of 
primitive tradition, though not as to its truth ; — the latter 
being only a matter of opinion ; he and other hostile 
writers treat the Gospels as undeniably written by the 
immediate* disciples of Jesus and as the undisputed records 
of what Jesus was believed by them to have done and 
said.” 

•^Well,” said Greta, ‘‘1 admit that the Gospels were 
written by the claimants, and at the time claimed.” 

‘^That,” quickly replied Warren, ^Ms of itself evi- 
dence that they are authentic. Those authors were ’in 
situations to know the truth of what they recorded. For 
many months John and Matthew were Jesus’ companions, 
and John was appointed to care for the mother of Jesus 
after her Son had vanished from human sight. Mark had 
written what he heard from Peter, whose amanuensis he 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 


255 


was, and such a mind as Peter’s would have treasured up 
the mere sounds that fell from his Master’s lips. Luke 
was the Apostles’ intimate friend, and one of the ^seventy 
disciples.’ What motive had they for narrating falsely? 
It was for their earthly interest to suppress the whole 
story. For it, they had nothing to gain, but all to lose, 
and for that cause they and their associates suffered and 
were killed.” 

'•^But might they not have been deluded?” she asked. 

‘‘Their style is not that of lunatics, or of men under 
a hallucination. They write very calmly. So accustomed 
were they to experiences different from common human- 
ity’s, that they were almost unmoved by their unique posi- 
tion, — just as in San Francisco earthquake shocks do no 
excite old residents, and just as Niagara Falls does not 
exalt honest hack-drivers who live there.” 

“Some one told me,” said Greta, “that these Gospels 
were copied from one another.” 

“ That claim, if true, is of no importance,” returned 
Warren; “but I do not believe it well founded. In 
Matthew and Luke, lists of the twelve Apostles are given 
in pairs, ‘Simon and Andrew,’ ‘James and John,’ etc., 
but there appears no reason for so grouping them. In 
Mark they are not so arranged, but there alone we are 
told that Jesus sent them forth to preach by two and two. 
Another refutation is found in the narrative of the trial 
before Pilate. According to Luke, He is charged with 
calling Himself a king. Pilate asks if He is king of the 
Jews, and, on His admitting the charge, strangely enough 


25G 


THE MADONNA OP PASF CHRISTIAN. 


for a Roman procurator, says, ‘I iiud no fault in hini.^ 
This can be explained only by John’s narrative, in which 
Jesus says to Pilate, ‘My kingdom not ot world,’ 
and thus convinces the Roman Governor that, as against 
the Roman sovereignty, the alleged kingship has no sig- 
nificance. Such important omissions show also that their 
writers were human, un-artistic, inexperienced, and truth- 
ful. Superficial, obtrusive coincidences mark pretentious, 
falsified narratives. But only close inspection reveal the 
latent coincidences of the Gospels, proving the great story 
out of the mouth of those who were as babes and sucklings 
in wisdom, and by reason of that very simplicity. The 
longer discourses in the fourth Gospel differ from those in 
the other three; but the human Jesus in John’s appendix 
is the same as that of Matthew, Mark and Luke.” 

“Two different authors not unfrequently work upon 
the same novel,” suggested Greta, “each separately delin- 
eating the character of the same fictitious personages.” 

“The evangelists,” answered Warren, “show neither the 
imagination nor the culture necessary to have made them 
capable authors of fictitious literature. There is evidence 
that it was hard for them even to use the language in 
which they painfully wrote; they have the literal, prosaic, 
unimaginative style of plodding men who only make dry 
memoranda of passing events. Who that was able to write 
fiction would not have attempted descriptions of scenery? 
The omission of all such show that these men merely 
chronicled events, — into whose beauty and majesty their 
dull brains entered but imperfectly. Unless such a One 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 


257 


as him whom men call Jesus was actually in Palestine you 
have an unprecedented, unequalled, and unaccountable 
tale of transcendent excellence, invented by two fishermen, 
a tax-gatherer, and an obscure physician in enslaved 
Galilee. There can be no reasonable doubt that such a 
man as Jesus at least lived and said what he did.” 

And what of it?” 

Never man spake like Him. This is admitted by 
candid skeptics, and the fact that he did so goes to show 
that he was more than human. He revolutionized previous 
religious maxims, and yet the judgment of nineteen 
enlightened Christian centuries has sustained his decis- 
ions. Is it probable that they came from a mere 
human son of a poor carpenter, educated in the poor 
starveling village in that despised corner of Palestine, far 
from the learning of Greece and Rome? Yet there was 
either one such, or four.” 

I am willing to admit that Matthew, Mark, Luke 
and John did not write fiction,” said Greta, ^'except when 
they told such things as we would not believe if told us of 
any one acknowledged to be merely human. What of it? 
You have not advanced far.” 

Biographies of personages in Greek and Roman his- 
tory,” continued Warren, ‘^and of many saints in the 
Christian calendar contain supernatural events ; these you 
can cut out, leaving a story that is coherent and credible. 
In Jesus^ life the divine blends inextricably with the 
human. His discourses refer to his miracles, and in all 
of them he enounces, at least indirectly, a mission far 


258 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


above any one who had gone before. Who of the proph- 
ets ever dared to speak in his own name ? 

That his habitual speech constantly implied his pos- 
session of divine powers is admitted as a historical fact? 
and infidel writers assert that he believed pious fraud 
essential to success. To establish the purest, loftiest 
morality that man ever taught he practiced pretense and 
deception ! ” 

Yet,” interrupted Greta, how many preachers talk 
the purest morality from the pulpit and then run away 
with some female member of their flock, or, like Eev. Mr. 
Winslow of Boston, forge and decamp ? ” 

“ And those ministers who doiiT do it we presume are 
good. Concede that much to the minister who so courage- 
ously scourged and scathed the ^ Pharisees and hypocrites.^ 
Give him credit for not being a hypocrite.” 

He was self-deluded,” she urged, like Joan of Arc.” 
^‘The Jews looked for a Messiah who should be a war- 
like conqueror and raise them above the Caesars. If, not- 
withstanding he was so gifted, there had been any weak 
place in his character, he would have yielded to the tre- 
mendous pressure brought upon him to play the part of 
Joan d^ Arc.” 

Granting that he was neither deceiver nor deceived,” 
said she, how do you expect me to credit the supernatu- 
ral incidents related of him?” 

Are you one of those who know all that it was ever 
possible for God to do, and are therefore sure that mira- 
cles can never have happened ? ” 


THE DOUBTING GRETA. 


259 


No,” she hesitatingly said, don^t know as much 
as God. Only God can know what God can do, or what 
lie has done in the past.” 

“God has created, among other things, the laws of 
nature, — for instance, that a stone or a feather should fall 
sixteen feet in a second ; he could, we may suppose, 
have made their acceleration one hundred feet. Ordi- 
narily He makes human bodies from dust indirectly, 
through vegetable and animal food ; perhaps it was not 
impossible for him to take the cold clay which constituted 
the former body of Lazarus, and by his infinite power cre- 
ate from it a new living body. It would be impossible to 
live in this world if its inhabitants could not depend on 
invariable natural laws ; a State whose political laws, even, 
are changing frequently in vital matters is objectionable. 
But as easily as Rhode Island’s legislature can alter its laws, 
so can God alter the laws of this world. Do not forget that 
God can perform a so-called miracle, that He probably 
loould send one divine messenger to teach moral laws 
among his countless millions of created intelligent beings, 
and you have gone far towards determining whether, upon 
the evidence presented, Jesus Christ was the one.” 

There was a pause, in which the two, for a moment, 
were silent. 

“If what we term ^miracles^ were frequent,” contin- 
ued Warren, “it would simply mean that nature was in a 
topsy-turvy, unsettled, disordered condition. Their only 
result would be to baffle human expectation, make useless 
human calculations and the growth of human genius. 


260 


THE MADOiN^HA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


If these transgressions of the established order of nature 
were frequent, they would not attract attention and could 
not have assisted in proving Christ’s divinity. Miracle, 
then, is God’s mode of self-revelation. Philosophy tells 
us that heat, light, magnetism, electricity, gravitation are 
identical, — a force whose form is Protean. Force is con- 
vertible and the cause for the motive of the steam-engine 
is the same as the ostensible cause for the life of one of 
the horses whose aggregated power it possesses. And 
there is no visible cause for a human life that may not be 
converted into the life of a steam-engine, and which does 
not exist for the two equally. At Cana in Galilee, God is 
said to have changed water into wine ; unreasoning men 
fail to believe ; yet the water which falls from Heaven in 
rain to-day enters the grapes of France and changes far 
more wonderfully than any transformation which human 
aid can effect. All intermediate causes are included in 
the great First Cause ; how can we assert that the First 
Cause can not cure the paralytic without the use of medi- 
cines and time and man’s surgical instruments, — that He 
can not restore life to the inanimate human form of clay 
in which He had kept life, and into which He had origi- 
nally put life ?” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


ROBERT ELSMERE^^ DOUBTED. 

Night lay upon my eyelids, 

About my lips earth clave ; 

With stony heart and forehead 
I lay within my grave. 

How long 1 can not reckon 
I slept in that straight bed ; 

I woke and heard distinctly 
A knocking overhead. 

“ Wilt thou not rise, my dearest? 

The eternal dawn is here; 

The dead have all arisen. 

Immortal bliss is near.” 

“I can not rise, my darling, 

I am blinded to the day, . . 

^‘What do you think of ^Robert Elsmere ^ asked 
Greta, as she leaned back against a gray and faded old 
tombstone. 

‘‘For the book itself, returned Warren, “I have the 
contempt which is due the pretensions and conceit, and 
corresponding lack of literary merit, which emphasize every 
page. As to its intrinsic importance, the book would 
not deserve two words; but its extrinsic, vast popular influ- 
ence is of course a phenomenon that takes one^s attention. 
It is phenomenally surprising, because Robert Elsmere is 
so deficient in logic. I do not believe that the great 

261 


262 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


majority of those whom it influenced, used their penetra- 
tion very keenly.^^ 

“ The authoress asserted that ^ miracles do not happen! 
suggested Greta, '‘and so argued that the New Testa- 
ment was only an exquisite fairy story. 

" There is a miracle in every transformation from an 
egg to a chicken,^^ said her companion, " but not all recog- 
nize that. The tender beauty of this golden sunset is to 
one only a promise of a fair to-morrow, to another simply 
a refraction of light, to another an evidence of divine 
kindness and eternal glory. Only pretended philosophers 
deny all that is not within our mortal experience. What, 
pray, lies beyond the outermost limits of this universe? 
When wc realize how little we know, then we advance. 
Bow more humbly to the Power who can work the miracle 
of turning an acorn into an oak-tree. Like Eobert Els- 
mere, doubtless the grasshoppers of a summer may assert, 
from their 'experience,^ that a farmer cannot reap without 
some intricate mowing machine and asses. How absurd 
to claim that God, who made the laws of health and dis- 
ease, could not heal the sick without the machinery of 
medicine and long-eared doctors. Let us not disbelieve 
the history of his appearance on earth because it is said 
that he displayed the power of a God.” 

Greta gave a little musical laugh. 

"Let us make believe, Mr. Warren,” she said, 
"that this delightful cemetery is a court ; in which I, the 
judge, have just heard the depositions of certain witnesses, 
fishermen, tax-gatherers, and others, named Matthew, 


“ROBERT ELS-MERE” DOUBTED. 


263 


Mark, Luke, John, and the rest of them. So far it is 
agreed what the depositions are, when and where they 
were taken, and that, allowing that God’s power is infinite, 
it possible for the events they narrate to occur. You 
are the attorney and counsel for the Christians. Argue 
now, that the testimony of their witnesses, as contained 
in these (Gospel) depositions, is true.” 

“ May it please your Honor, then,”said Warren, “there 
is, in the first place, not the slightest doubt that most or 
all of the eleven Apostles suffered losses and the severest 
persecutions in attesting their belief that Jesus was 
Divine. They devoted their lives, went to far countries, 
overcame natural, social, and national barriers, insur- 
mountable except to the most ardent and self-forgetting 
enthusiasm, and several encountered and bravely endured 
beheading, crucifixion and other agonizing and ignomini- 
ous deaths. These at least prove that they believed, — 
intensely and sincerely. Sacrifice and martyrdom, how- 
ever, do not prove that a belief is true, for, if so, many 
shams and absurdities that have been sealed by their devo- 
tees’ blood would have to be accepted as sacred truths. 

“The apostles, however, are peculiarly distinguished in 
one respect, from all other martyrs, even from other early 
Christian martyrs. The declarations which they main- 
tained at the cost of their lives were not dogmatic articles 
of faith, but statements of facts, which their own eyes and 
ears had witnessed,— as they professed. Foremost among 
ihese facts was Christ’s resurrection. That they be- 
lieved themselves witnesses of his dying, and of his 


264 


THE MADON^HA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


reappearance among the living, there can not be 
the slightest doubt. Skeptics admit this much, 
adding emphatically, that unless the apostles had 
less than the strongest confidence in their Master's resur- ^ 
rection, it was impossible that they should have been the 
earnest propagandists and heroic sufferers that they un- 
doubtedly were. But the undoubting belief of professed 
eye witnesses is not in itself enough to inspire confidence 
in their testimony. The testimony of fools and fanatics, 
though blood-sealed, is valueless. The question then is, 
can we rely on their perceptions and judgment. 

Observe first how they testify: are they intelligent and 
sober, or wild and fanatical? The regard of those who are 
foremost in intelligence, good sense and culture is evidence. 
Their esteem goes to the extent of holding that the gospels 
are inspired. Whether that is so or not we need not con- 
consider. But the fact that such opinion is held by the 
largest proportion of the most enlightened nations of the 
world, prove the testimony to be free at least from the 
tokens of weakness, folly or infatuation. Palestine's bor- 
ders and her politics were then frequently changing, and 
closely in accord with the geography, chronology, and 
history of all contemporary writers, especially with Jose- 
phus' minute and circumstantial history, — are the gospels. 
Their style is simple, artless, free from apostrophe, ambi- 
tious rhetoric, and outbursts of impetuous feeling, — which 
shows them cool-headed and not inclined to exaggeration. 

Six were fishermen, and this life educated the facul- 
ties which perceive and discern. Hardy, honest sailors do 


^'ROBERT ELSMERE’^ DOUBTED. 265 

not enlist, as fanatics, in shams. One of these fishermen, 
Peter, was captious, easily offended, and ready to find 
fault with his Master. Such a man would have been dis- 
gusted with deceit and false pretenses. If Jesus had not 
been genuine, Peter would have taken umbrage. But his 
attachment dickers only under the reaction from fool-hardy 
courage; a look from his Master drowns his denial in tears; 
and thenceforward none were more bravely and promptly 
earnest than he to testify, and he asked to be crucified head 
downward as evidence of his final humility. 

^^Another of the twelve, Matthew, was a collector of im- 
ports in the service of the Koman Government, — gathering 
tribute from a people that scorned to pay and used every 
subterfuge in evasion. Only one who was all eye and ear 
could have held such an office; from the needs of his pro- 
fession he was a detective, — the last to be duped by fanati- 
cism or imposture. He, too, had much to lose. Rome’s 
agents enriched themselves, and Matthew had acquired 
enough to make agreat feast for Jesus — sufficiently impor- 
tant for the Pharisees to know and envy the guests. As a 
detective, and as a man of wealth who must sacrifice, 
Matthew’s journal-like narrative is peculiarly valuable. 
This man of business took memoranda at Capernaum, his 
post of duty, and his testimony contains more of what 
happened there than the others. 

Simon was a ^ Zealot,’ — a fanatical sect whose loyalty 
to the Mosaic ritual was pushed to frenzy, and who 
deemed murder justifiable in defending their religion. 
They were the cause of Jerusalem’s destruction. The 


266 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


final exile of the Hebrews, an act opposed to Rome’s usual 
policy, was forced on Titus by the Zealots’ obstinacy. 
Thus Simon had been watching for a temporal Messiah, 
and the dawn of vengeance and victory. Pledged to inter- 
pret the prophets most literally, he was so impressed with 
Christ’s tokens that he threw aside his old sectarian con- 
victions and accepted crucifixion. 

Doubting Thomas was probably created by the Deity 
to assure, by his experiments, the doubting multitudes who 
should follow. These eleven, for many months, constantly 
accompanied Jesus on the road, in the house, on the lake, 
and must have known whether he lived up to his precepts. 
They staked their lives on their statements, among which 
was his alleged faultless and absolute godlike sanctity and 
excellence. They must have known whether this was true ; 
and this knowledge they died to attest. 

‘^Last comes a hostile witness, Judas Iscariot. He was 
a confidential employe — keeper of the little treasury 
of the apostolic family, and his opportunities for 
knowing all about his Master were the same as the 
eleven. From the first he was selfish and greedy, and 
probably Jesus chose him so that if malice would seek 
aught against him, it might have every chance to find it. 
If Judas could have gone to the leading Jews with evi- 
dence of jugglery or exaggeration in the wonderful works 
reported to have been wrought by Jesus, or could he have 
proved a single deed or utterance that would impair the 
reputation of perfect sanctity which Jesus held among a 
large portion of the people ; could he have testified aught 


‘^ROBERT ELSMERE’’ DOUBTED 267 

against his Master^s character, he might have made his 
thirty pieces of silver three hundred, for the chief priests 
were far from being sure that they could persuade Pilate 
to kill Him, and they dared not do so themselves. Impos- 
ture in His alleged miracles, or some weak point in His 
character, or some damning incident in His life would have 
destroyed His influence, and they would have paid any 
price to get such evidence. But there was nothing for this 
money-seeker to sell, except information of where, in the 
environs of the crowded city, Jesus was going to pass the 
night, — a night arrest being necessary because friendly 
Galileans would have resisted a daylight apprehension. For 
this paltry service Judas was paid correspondingly little. 

But even he repents. The power and beauty of that 
blessed Master, with all His majesty, meekness and love 
come over Judas, but too late ; flnding no escape from the 
contamination of those thirty silver pieces by casting them 
into the Jewish treasury, he testifles as to his Masters truth 
by remorsefully hanging himself. His despairing suicide is 
a witness equally with the cheerful sufferings of the loving 
martyrs. Judas is thrilling evidence of how the Saviour 
seemed to a subtle, captious and treacherous observer, 
whose avarice and meanness testify together with God’s 
saints. 

‘^If the Epistles and Gospels were genuine, the Epistles 
would not formally narrate events, or rehearse the words of 
Jesus, but merely evince belief in the contents of the Gos- 
pels. The t»wo classes of writings would coincide just as the 
friendly letters of generals Washington and Greene, states- 


208 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


men Jefferson and Adams, concur with the authentic 
histories of the Kevolution. Thus Paul writes to the 
Corinthians how Peter and James and others had seen the 
risen Lord ; — this he must have learned direct from Peter 
and James, when several years before he went to Jerusalem 
to confer with them about his new faith; for if they had 
been silent then about the resurrection and afterwards pro- 
fessed to believe it, the story would have seemed a fabri- 
cation to a man with a clear and cultivated mind like Paul. 
This visit occurred about six years after the crucifixion. 
A myth could not have grown up in so short a time. What 
was asserted then must have been a story grafted imme- 
diately upon the crucifixion. Was the resurrection a fact, an 
illusion, or an imposture ? One of these three it must be. 

‘‘Paul was a man of singular acuteness and of high 
culture. Some who are no mean judges term him the 
greatest man God ever made. He had vehemently opposed 
and persecuted the new faith. On that side lay office, 
infiuence, wealth and honors. He chose penury, contempt, 
the prison stripes, — for Christ. Only the strongest con- 
viction could have caused such a choice, and conviction 
with a man like him meant reasons solid and substantial — 
proof impregnable. Before his conversion he moved in a 
circle in which Christianity was less esteemed than Mor- 
monism now ; his change was as abnormal as if Colonel 
Ingersoll should suddenly begin to preach Brigham Young. 
The respect of friends turned to contempt. To face all 
this,* must not his belief have been tantamount to knowl- 
edge ? 


‘^^ROBERT ELSMERE’^ DOUBTED. 


269 


''Paul says that Jesus risen appeared to more than five 
hundred at once, and adds that most of the five hundred 
were still living. He mentions also the death of some. 
From this we may infer that he was acquainted with many 
of the five hundred, and it is hardly possible that in so 
gravely important a matter to his personal interests he 
should not have examined and weighed their testimony. 
AVe can not doubt that Paul believed it, and that he wrote 
to converts who had no thought of calling it in question. 

" Within a few weeks after the crucifixion, the resur- 
rection was proclaimed in a discourse which won a multi- 
tude of converts; as this was in the city where it took 
place, the story must have been severely tested. 

"If the four evangelists were honest in their belief of 
the story (as their martyrdom proves), they were honest 
in their statement of their grounds of belief. 

" Skeptics divide between two hypotheses, namely, that 
the apostles were under an hallucination, or that Jesus only 
swooned on the cross, and, after being taken down, re- 
covered. 

" Hallucinations have their laws and limits as well as 
those other laws of ' nature ' which skeptics are so fond of 
quoting. Hallucinations do not run at the same moment 
through large bodies of men in broad daylight, so that 
five hundred persons falsely think that they see the same 
unreal man at the same time. They are not accompanied 
by imagined long conversations, under altered circum- 
stances, by imagined sittings at the same table and receiv- 
ing food from his hands. Hallucination of the eye is cor- 


270 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


nected by the hand; as this is ^uniform experience/ that 
Thomas should have been deceived as to the reality 
of the wound-marks, must* have been a miracle, and 
skeptics aver that ‘miracles do not happen/ But where 
was the body during these wonderful hallucinations so 
soon after death? Roman soldiers guarded it, and the 
Roman or Jewish authorities would have been quick to 
refute the story of the resurrection if they could. If in 
Joseph of Arimathea’s sepulchre, its owner would have 
sought peace with his brethren of the Sanhedrim by aiding 
to detect the imposture. The disciples did not take the 
body, for then they would not have believed in tlie resur- 
rection. Yet the contrivance of leaving the grave-clothes 
behind in the sepulchre to substantiate the story of the 
resurrection, was a stratagem possible only for those who 
were going to circulate the tale; that is, fqr the disciples; 
and the worst of men are not willing to die to sustain a 
useless, hopeless falsehood, when by telling the truth they 
might live. The theory of fraud on the part of the dis- 
ciples is utterly untenable. 

“The swooning theory seems even more absurd. If 
Socrates had only swooned on drinking the hemlock, and 
then tried, as Jesus did, to make his friends believe in his 
resurrection, would he be admired? Would martyrs die 
for him? In the records of Jesus^ history skeptics have 
striven in vain to find deceit. The Roman executioners 
knew the signs of death, and were not the men to let their 
victims escape; they broke the legs of the two thieves and 
noted the death of the central figure, but if not, the spear 


^^ROBERT ELSMERE” DOUBTED. 271 

thrust must have killed the man. Even without that 
fatal wound, the intermittent flickerings of life must have 
been extinguished by the suffocation of the tomb. Whence 
the strength that enabled him after three days of fasting, 
bleeding, fainting, to raise the heavy stone from within 
and appear outside strong and well ? The vigorous double 
walk between Jerusalem and Emmaus on that very day, 
and all subsequent incidents, do not indicate slow and 
painful convalescence. Bodily weakness would have be- 
trayed itself to the anxious care of the disciples. These 
men, disciplined by a rough, hard life, were not altogether 
credulous fools. They knew whether one had barely 
evaded death. They believed Jesus was its conqueror. 
To protect a crucified convalescent from further persecu- 
tion and nourish him in secret, was the utmost that could 
have been expected of them. That they should throw 
away all that this world had for them in the present and 
future, to sustain any baseless pretensions of his, or of their 
own, about him, would have been sheer madness. 

Jerusalem was filled with keen eyes and active brains 
implacably hostile to the Christians. The Sadducees 
were not superstitious, nor were the Pharisees more cred- 
ulous than hypocrites. Those who had brought Jesus to the 
cross were equally interested in crushing the rising, rebel- 
lious rumor. If it was merely a case of suspended ani- 
mation, the man must have lingered on for years in ob- 
scure retirement, sheltered by his disciples, upon whose 
faith and zeal he would have been a dead weight. Why, 
then, the additional ^lie^of his ascension? The faith 
of their ' dupes ^ was already heavily drawn upon. 


m 


THE MADOJ^HA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


We trace the change from the Jewish Sabbath on Sat- 
urday, to the Christian Sunday, back to the Apostolic age; 
for in the next generation we find record of a controversy 
in which primitive usage was appealed to, as the proper 
time for celebrating ihQ resurrection j and no historical rec- 
ords are so infallible as festivals commemorating single 
events. Such observances must originate in real or sup- 
posed facts; could the Fourth of July change its meaning 
without leaving that change indelibly impressed on histor- 
ical records? Could Sunday? This is double evidence, 
for, presenting so broad a mark for attack, the Christian 
Sunday has challenged necessarily the keenest weapons 
of its enemies, from the very earliest times, from the Apos- 
tolic age. To withstand attacks so successfully, the Apos- 
tolic and primitive belief in the resurrection must have 
been genuine and sincere, and that, too, at a period when, 
if it were false, that could and must have been demon- 
strated. 

The precedents of the decisions of such intellects as 
Milton, Newton, Locke, and a host beside, may influence us, 
as similar precedents bind courts. These were men in whom 
emotion and sentiment could not have preceded or produced 
belief as in many lesser minds. Their understanding con- 
sidered the grounds of unbelief; that their fafth was im- 
pregnable to doubt, may reassure less comprehensive intel- 
lects. The astronomical problems they solved are believed 
in by us without going through all their calculations; if we 
believe them true in one thing, we may incline to think 
them true in another. The immortal light blazing from 


273 


ROBERT ELSMERE’^ DOUBTED. 

the Bible was not ignited by any mortal; the being who, 
eighteen centuries ago, caused a revolution in humanity, 
starting the current of the world^’s history into a different 
channel, and whose moral perfection has been only re- 
motely imitated by the best of men, — was neither a fraud 
nor a delusion. If it was not for the assertion of mir- 
acles performed, no other events in ancient history would 
be regarded as more accurately established than these, — 
such admission would be readily made by all. Yet we 
have seen that if the non-miraculous parts of the story 
are true (which would be admitted), there is no accounting 
for the miracles except on the plausible theory that God 
deemed it wise to show that the ethical rules then given 
for the future guidance of his creatures, proceeded from 
one whose power was infinite and who was therefore God, 
and whose teachings should be so respected. 

The evangelists generally aimed to describe only what 
they themselves had witnessed; this is partly evidenced 
by their omitting details of Jesus’ childhood; with this 
they were not personally acquainted. Such self-restraint 
makes them more credible. The difference between the 
aspect of the true and the false is strikingly shown by the 
Apocryphal Gospels, which narrate minute details of that 
childhood; they assert that a leprous girl is cured by drink- 
ing the water in which the infant Jesus had been washed; 
a young man whom sorcerers had turned into a mule, is 
restored by placing the infant Jesus on his back; the boy 
Jesus plays with other boys at making clay figures of ani- 
mals which He causes to walk, fly, eat and drink; Joseph, 


274 


THE MADOifHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


an unskillful carpenter, is helped by the gates miracu- 
lously widening and by buckets and boxes taking proper 
shape; the boy Jesus amuses Himself by making fishponds, 
and strikes dead, by His will, another boy who had broken 
the pools and let the water run out. He disobeys a school- 
master whose hand, when about to whip Him, withers. He 
causes a boy to die who carelessly runs against Him in the 
street and curses with blindness those who complain of 
Him. 

These show what false gospels would be like if written 
by the earliest Christians, but they also prove that some 
wonderful man must have lived whose miraculous powers 
were very early believed in. It is worthy of note that 
the supernatural portion of the true gospels was not 
called in question during the early centuries, even by 
the enemies of Christianity. They said that ^ He cast out 
demons through Beelzebub, the chief of the demons.' 
After the raising of Lazarus the assembled counsel said, 
‘This man doeth many miracles; if we let him alone, all 
men will believe on him.' Celsus and Porphyry admitted 
the supernatural facts, but ascribed them to necromancy. 
This was the favorite and sole theory of the Jewish nation 
for many centuries, until the growing intelligence of the 
world told them that only God could bring the dead to 
life." 

The light of Warren's pleading, kindly discourse and 
the light of day ended together. The day left the earth 
in a chariot of fire and horses of fire, going up in a whirl- 
wind of sunset beauty; a mantle fell of purple mists. 


^^ROBERT ELSMERE^’ DOUBTED. 


275 


transparent shadows flitted over gardens near the ceme- 
tery, and faint, hazy outlines traveled along the lonely 
endless railroad, like wraiths on their way to eternity. 
The shadow phantoms came to the young man and the 
maiden in the church-yard, and danced about a still 
phantom there— a gray statue, overhung with ivy, the 
monument to some one forgotten. 

Human hearts forget and perish, murmured Greta, 
human eyes must fall asleep.” 

The upper foliage of the cypress near them was 
blushing in the reddening twilight, and its dark, lower 
boughs hung down with a solemn gravity, as if with the 
quiet respect which trees and flowers would give to the 
earthly history of their God. 

The two rose to go home and Greta looked away to 
the wan seashore, where whitening waves were crowding 
in with the tide; they seemed to her to whisper a mysteri- 
ous lullaby, as if mocking mermaids were there and urging 
that all was only a long-past tradition, — a lovely fairy tale 
of olden times. But she extended her hand to Warren 
and said: 

‘‘Thank you. Almost thou persuadest me to be a 
Christian.” 

And as they went home, the glowing red streaks of 
mirrored sunset in the -darkening waters grew ashy pale, 
while night again advanced on them and her. 


CHAPTER XX. 


'^THE ACADEMY.” 

“We must love and serve the Supreme Being, notwithstanding 
the superstition and fanaticism which often dishonor His worship.” — 
Voltaire. 

What shall I do to have eternal life ?” 

In narrating the true history of certain individuals 
who were within the past few years at Pass Christian, the 
historian has endeavored to chronicle their principal acts 
and conversations. Certain agnostics from Chicago formed 
a circle of thinkers at the Mexican G-ulf, and made the 
discussion of the philosophy of religion as attractive as 
love-making or bloodshed. In the course of this narra- 
tive, the most voracious thirst for blood will be abun- 
dantly satiated. But at present the skies are fair and 
blue, the sea is calm, Meeks is at New Orleans, and Greta 
and Warren are sauntering along the shell road of Pass 
Christian, at their wonted daily exercise — of mind, body, 
and soul. 

That question has risen to many lips, I ween,” replied 
Warren, ^^and yours is very like that of one who came to 
the Master by night. The answer then was, ^Except you 
be born again, of the Spirit, you can not enter the King- 
dom.^ The little uprooted violet told you the othei^ay 
how it reaches down to the inorganic kingdom, touching 
and ennobling with life the dead minerals and gases, and 

l-76 


THE ACADEMY. 


277 


bringing them up transfigured: so the Holy Spirit, moving 
where it listeth, touches dead souls and bears them up 
from the carnal domain into the Spiritual. As the black 
clod of earth can not become more and more living, so, 
until the heavenly vine enters the darkened soul, it will 
remain untransformed and unlit until perhaps its day of 
sunlight is over. ^ Work while it is day, for the night 
cometh.^ A wise virgin will put oil in her lamp against 
the advancing darkness which poets call the ‘ River of 
Death.^ 

‘^Behold a bridegroom cometh returned Greta, 
lightly, as she glanced quickly behind her. 

“Good morning, Mr. Warren.’^ 

Ah ? Good morning, sir,” he responded, looking up ; 
^^Miss Lind, Dr. Thayer, — rector of Trinity Church here.” 

“'I rather think I take you unawares,” said the clergy- 
man; deep in philosophy, eh ?” 

Yes,' Miss Lind is interested in science.” 

‘^Hardly so much as she would like,” said that young 
lady; ‘‘not yet worthy of being numbered among the dis- 
ciples of something so entertaining.” 

“Ninety girls are here in a seminary of which I am 
president,” said Dr. Thayer; “I \yish they all could say 
with you that getting wisdom is diverting. Most girls 
never realize their opportunities until twig is bent and tree 
inclined, and the freshest part of their young life is 
withered and fallen.” 

Greta said nothing. When her parents first opposed 
her engagement with Meeks, they sent her away to a board- 


278 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


ing-school divert and train her mind.’^ But she had 
'^brought them to terms/' as she described it, by such 
unmanageable defiance and disorderly conduct, that her 
grieved father was obliged to take her home. It was the 
last of her school-days ; and believing her immovable and 
incorrigible, her father had given a pained and reluctant 
assent to her marriage, on the sole condition that 
it should be delayed two years. This condition, Meeks, 
with commendable financial prudence, had accepted and 
had not tried to set aside. Just now her victory did not 
seem to Greta particularly glorious. There had come into 
her mind, all unbidden, a certain hymn. In general, 
Greta was not in the habit of remembering hymns, but 
this, through its beautiful music, had somewhat impressed 
itself upon her recollection : — 

“ As o’er the past my memory strays, 

Why heaves the secret sigh? 

The world and worldly things beloved, 

My anxious thoughts employ’d; 

And time unhallowed, unimproved, 

Presents a fearful void.” 

The three had reached a neat fence enclosing certain 
pleasant and capacious grounds; — wide gravel walks, lined 
with shade trees, led to a modest home-like building, sur- 
rounded, after the usual Southern fashion, by shady bal- 
conies and verandahs. Airy windows looked out upon the 
Gulf and gathered the salt winds Of the day, and did not 
reject the attentions of that scented cavalier who came to 
them by night— the pine forest wind from the north. This 
serenader often sung beneath those windows, with wild 
and mournful melodies. 


THE ACADEMY. 


279 


^^This/^ said the clergyman, opening a gate, 'Ms our 
Academy; walk in/^ 

The school-girl rebel entered and saw well-ventilated 
dormitories, spacious halls, recitation rooms, classes, 
groups of happy students at lawn tennis, or in the swing 
under the elm. Childish faces which had been wan and 
wasted from malaria inland, here were tinted by the brush 
of the ocean until their cheeks were as pink as its shells 
She almost wished that she were among the little romps at 
play, on ponies or see-saw, or strolling arm in arm with 
their more dignified young lady elders. 

After kindly showing them over the greater part of his 
school, the rector finally led them to the museum. 

"I must now hear a recitation, said, he; "will you, 
Mr. Warren, explain to this young lady our natural his- 
tory collections? I want her to know that our Southern 
schools do not compare so very unfavorably with hers in the 
North. Don^t let her go without showing her what we 
have. Make yourself at home.^’ 

They looked over the shelves of the museum. Pretty 
soon Warren led Greta to examine with a microscope the 
contents of two small cases. In one were clear, crystal 
prisms, capped by little pyramids, — exquisite models of 
symmetry. In the other was a heap of glassy urns, rich 
goblets and vases, whose pure white surface was adorned 
in rows with little regular discs. Both prisms and urns 
were silica; but the angles and right lines in the one were 
replaced by the curves and varied contours of the other; 
the tiny goblets and vases were chiselled faultlessly, and 


280 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


were beautiful enough to have graced the feast of Antony 
and Cleopatra. 

^‘They are both so lovely,’^ said Greta, ‘‘that if their 
names were Venus and Juno or Minerva and mine was 
Paris, I wouldn^t know what to do.'’^ 

“ Yet each belongs to a world far different from the 
other,” said Warren; “ the living and the dead. Life only 
can make the little urns; they are shells, and if melted 
their sculpture vanishes forever. But the pyramids are 
crystals, and when melted in the crucible and destroyed, 
will reappear by inherent force. Grind the crystal to 
powder: its force remains unbroken, and after running 
every gauntlet known to the chemist its crushed atoms 
will re- crystallize. But the sculptor of the urns was not 
force, but life, and no chemist can restore that.” 

“Crystal snow-flakes and the tracery of frost are as 
pretty as living ferns or feathers,” she said. “Be^-ween 
beautiful green moss and green emeralds, I would choose 
the dead emeralds.” • 

“Things may be equal in beauty, though separated by 
an impassable chasm,” said Warren. “ The crystal never 
aspires beyond its prismatic world, though given the op- 
portunity, by melting and reforming a thousand times. 
So are the moral materialists and positivists, who know 
not life. But the tiny shells, like Christians, are the 
humblest of their order.” 

Near by, in a glass case, was an insect which imitated 
a mossjcovered branch, and Warren spoke of the decep- 
tions which walking-stick insects and leaf butterflies prac- 
tice to escape ir.sectiynrous bi us. 


THE ACADEMY. 


281 


Other curious hypocrites/" said he, mimic the color 
of Christian church membership, hoping that such will 
shelter them from a devouring but half-blind God. But 
life can not be communicated at will. The electrician 
can transform the magnetic energy of an iron bar into 
heat, motion or light, — and re-form them into magnetism. 
But the biologist can not devitalize an animal and vivify it 
again. Life is not a homeless tramp roving through 
space, to be drawn like electricity from the clouds."" 

On their way back to the hotel, Greta playfully kicked 
a little mole-hill, and asked : 

^^Do you see any hieroglyphic in that ?"" 

The mole burrows away from the light, and '^^'’^ture 
argues that eyes are superfluous to one who would live in 
darkness, and the wages of its sin of non-use is the death 
of the dis-used eyes. So of the dis-used soul. In the 
lakes of the Mammoth Cave are little Crustacea which 
seem to have eyes. The blanched head has two olack 
specks, — the only bits of color*on the whole pallid kin. 
Are they organs of vision? An incision and the micro- 
scope betray their secret. They are a mockery; externally 
perfect, within are only ruins. Optic nerves have shrunk 
and dwindled to threads — until their eyes see not. Hav- 
ing chosen to abide in darkness, Nature grimly humors 
them."" 

She that hath ears to hear, which have not yet 
shrunk,"" said Greta, "Het her hear."" 

The souls of some are like that deserted villa near 
the Haunted Oak, Uninhabited and with QQd"s iniage 


2S2 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


gone, they go to ruin and rot as that has done. The blind 
wasted eye of the Atheist can not see God; the conse- 
quences of his neglect are not put off till death. The 
ruined villa does not run an account with rottenness and 
delay the reckoning till a more convenient season, and 
each soul is its own book of judgment, upon which 
uncheatable Nature, the all-observant recording angel, 
writes daily, and pays the daily wages of death or life.” 

^^And do you think, Mr. Warren, that if I were to 
engage in studies which interpret the universe, I might 
learn to choose aright?” 

Cultivate taste and you will learn what can gratify 
your hunger. The frozen wintry scenery of the universe 
will be illuminated by knowledge of its Father, summer 
will come, and you will hear the Shepherd calling you into 
His blessed fold.” 

Greta had heard many whose words had fallen from 
her like dewdrops from a butterfly. But this guide she 
was to remember. 

She asked him to tell her of some Bible verses which 
he looked upon as corner-stones, so that she might deter- 
mine, at leisure and alone, whether she could accept them. 
So he wrote on a slip of paper, John, ch. xi, v. 25-6; 
Matt.,ch. xi, v. 28.” Long afterwards, when straying 
into memory’s dim garret of stored and bygone feelings, 
she recalled how, as he gave her these texts, the golden 
twilight seemed more lustrous around him than elsewhere; 
and how, as they looked into each other’s eyes, a tender- 
ness stole over them which was not all the delicate regard 
of the beautiful hvi§h of that shadowy evening. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


A REVERIE. 

“ O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! 

O drooping souls, whose destinies 
Are fraught with fear and pain, — 

Ye shall be loved again.” 

Cretans mind had now traveled to the brink of a preci- 
pice, and, looking over, saw nothing. She stood on the 
dark threshold of eternity, for the first time seeing the 
infinite abyss which gave her call no answer . 

Good spirits/^ she muttered, in the midnight dark- 
ness of her room as she tossed in sleeplessness, ^^what is 
religion? Words come to me as to a wooden image. 

Until then Meeks was enough, but now she had passed 
beyond animalism and had found a something lacking. 
Her slight dull want had increased with her restlessness 
into the pain of fever. Was she, then, like the crystal, 
beautiful, but without that something more of the violet 
— the mysterious possession termed life? ^^He that hath 
not the sun hath not life!'’^ Old-fashioned, austere theol- 
ogy! ‘‘Lost and saved, living and dead.^’ She had 
denied the grave distinction, — but it was philosophic. “To 
be carnally minded was death.” 

Subtle consumption had kept her beautiful while 
invisibly killing her. Yet what was her crime? Sim- 
ply neglect,— a “slothful servant,’^ failing in the holy 
283 


284 


THE MADOi^NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


stewardship of life. And she had been unaware of 
the growing decay — the darkest feature, just as 
in those casualties whose victims felt no pain, only the 
creeping on of the numbness evidencing the ooze of life. 
Were there only something about her soul — had she yet a 
soul? — not all dark, the spark might re-kindlethe inactive 
faculties. But her apathetic stupefaction — what meant 
that but death? Like those fishes who swam in caves 
where eyes are not employed, she, too, perhaps, had now 
paid the terrible forfeit, and never could behold the jasper 
walls. She had hidden in a napkin her most sacred talent. 
Although it harmed no one, lying rolled up in obscurity, 
she could not preserve it so; God had said to her, as to the 
fishes of the cavern, take away the disused talent,^' and 
nature had made it waste away. 

Struggle now, O soul, in vain! Would striving in 
inguish bring back eyes to the sightless fishes? Like a 
man falling from a church tower, on the way down, life not 
actually ended, but surely lost, — before her she saw only 
death. Even that long-lived oak perceived through her 
window was comparatively ephemeral; if sunshine and air 
should leave it for a minute it would expire; and on their 
return the sun which warmed would wither; the air and 
rain which nourished would make it decay. So that which 
aided her own growth and beauty some day would turn 
against her, and wither her and rot her through and 
through. 

All along the path of her life the sentence was carried 
out; and enforced with nature^s appalling fidelity. Having 


A EEVERIE. 


285 


taken poison, she had neglected the antidote too long, and 
her cool refusa of it was as fatally effective as its angry 
destruction. The spiritual dissolution had been gradual, 
but the end was the same, and while some would go to a 
beautiful heaven, this black curtain of night about her 
would lift nevermore. 

Let the Fates spin out her thread of life as long as 
possible. If to an old age, some day, sooner or later, she 
would become deaf. To sounds she would no longer be 
alive; part of her would be inanimate. Then she would 
grow blind. Sea and sky, faces of friends would be to her 
as if they were not. Still further lifeless. Next, disease 
would grasp her brain, until the perceptive faculties no 
longer gave her information. The outer world would be 
there, but not to her; she would be still further devitalized. 
And so the death of parts would continue, and she would 
become less and less alive. Finally, something central 
would snap, and lungs and heart would expire. The 
thing, for she would no longer be a person, would then be 
all dead. Bright heavenly images would pass her, lying 
there — cold clay — those whom she loved; perhaps her 
mother; perhaps the stranger who had so kindly tried to 
point her upward 

And she would be all dead, for her soul never possessed 
the spiritual life, her heart never throbbed a reply to God^s 
love, and eternal night had come. She could no longer 
work 

The roots of a tree perceive the different kinds of soil 
around it, and its branches realize the sunlight and the air 


286 


THE MADOXNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


which touch its leaves. But otherwise it is unconscious. 
The murmur of the stream beneath, and the hum of 
insect life around, alfect it not, and it has no sympathy 
with the young birds who nestle among its limbs. To 
stream, insect and bird, the tree is dead. And Greta felt 
that she was like the stone — dead to higher life. 

Despised Bible verses flashed upon her: ‘‘No man 
knoweth who the Father is, but the Son and he to whom 
the Son will reveal Him; ” “ blessed are the eyes which see 
the things which ye see ; for I tell you that kings have 
desired to see those things which ye see, and have not 
seen them.'’’ Her agnosticism she had carried as lightly as 
the oak which was without knowledge of the bird-voices. 
She was not to be tortured with flames because she had 
died to God’s voice. Only, she was dead. What though 
her mortal perishable mind reached to the stars? They 
were not Heaven. Blind and deaf and dumb and torpid, 
in denying the unseen universe, she had been a most 
significant witness; the deaf care nothing for music, the 
tasteless care not for the world of art. 

Self-gratification in place of denial, rebellion instead 

of patient obedience, self-worship all the years of her life 

had been her common-place idols, and her higher being 
crushed, and a deadened soul, had been the wages. Her 
soul had the pallor of a flower grown in darkness — unfra- 
grant as the herb which has never known the sun. When 
mortal death came all light would go out. Let her live 
ever so long, the final catastrophe must come at length. 
Let her hang on to life until the earth ceased rotating and 


A REVEEIE. 


287 


fell into the sun; until the sun became dim, or until the 
effete doomed universe should be dissolved. Its splendid 
garment clothed her now, but others who were to put on 
immortal raiment looked elsewhere. . . . Except a mineral 
be born from above, it could not enter the vegetable 
kingdom just above; since she was not born from above — 
from the Kingdom of Angels than which man was but a 
little lower, its gates now were closed, — and closed accord- 
ing to the rules and principles of science. Would no living 
rootlets descend to vivify the stony soil of her heart? 0, 
the horror of eternal annihilation, — the luages of evil, not 
its punishment, but the incidental and natural conse- 
quences! And now her soul was frozen dead. Too late — 
too late — she could not enter now! . . . 

With a sob, she rose, and lighted her lamp, turniug it 
down until it was feebly dim; then she drew aside the 
curtains from the south window and looked out. Her 
view rested on a sullen waste of murky water, reaching 
away to a curving darkness against the depressed gray 
horizon. A low drifting rack of storm-clouds rolled 
above, and a ghastly .light burned through their lurid 
edges, like the deathly glow of phosphorescence. A wild 
despairing wind raged over the gloomy level, shook and 
swayed the oaks along the avenue, and swept through the 
sullen air. Before her window a withered tree, naked of 
leaves, shivered like a human being, as the blast agitated ’ 
its shriveled limbs. All was a desert without, and a 
desolation like death, or its shadow, rested heavily within. 


m 


THE MAHOXHA of pass CHKISTIAK. 


She drew from her writing-desk Warreii^s memorandum 
of verses. She, herself, had no Bible, but she thought of 
one which was in a parlor below. The hour was uncon- 
ventionally late and the night was at its dismalest, but 
Greta dressed sufficiently and slipped down the empty and 
echoing stairway, into solitary halls as lonely as her heart. 
There was a sleeping negro porter in one corridor, but he 
might have been the ‘^Sleeping Beauty for all the notice 
which he took. She passed by him into a parlor where an 
assembled line of chairs and tables looked to her 
shocked apprehension like an uncouth bier preparing for 
her. 

She snatched the old and tattered book from this som- 
bre resting-place and fled again to her room. 

For a moment she reclined on the ottoman, listening to 
the wailing and shrieking of the winds ; sinking at times 
into mad whispering and gibbering, and then from low 
moanings rising into deep, sonorous, drowning cries, — they 
seemed like evil Genie passionately calling. She opened 
the Bible, turned its ragged pages, and in the soft, lumi- 
nous dimness of her chamber she read : 

Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest.” . . . 

am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth 
in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” 

She read them thrice and then looked out upon the 
ethereal waste whose tempest seemed but a part of that 
mightier storm now rising high within her and rolling ever 


A REVERIE. 


289 


Upward. Gray clouds, like masses of upheaved granite, 
loomed aloft before her into the shape of a tall phantom 
monument. It spoke of dead who never return, and 
upon it she, the dying, hopelessly read those holy sayings 
again and again, until they were chiseled into her memory 
as deeply as head-stone letters into the un-sentient marble 
which indicates a grave. 


CHAPTEK XXII. 


A CLOSE COMMUNIONIST. 

The sea. hath its pearls, 

The heaven hath its stars. 

But my heart, my heart. 

My heart hath its love.” 

When the son of man comes in glory in the clouds of 
heaven, or in love in the heart, he does not, like the sun- 
rise, illuminate darkened shapes slowly, but rather, like the 
lightning, brightens earthly things in one quick flash and 
imprints the heavenly forever on the vision. For Greta 
the lightning had not yet come. All reverence had been 
killed, eternity shut out from view, her spiritual lamp 
untrimmed and smothered, and after this it seemed to her 
that even Warren avoided her. Not that he seemed less 
courteous or friendly; he would be as cordial and as kind 
as ever when they met at the dining- table, but that was 
all. After such meetings he would be engaged elsewhere, 
yet in such a manner of course, that she could not com- 
plain of intentional neglect. 

‘^Neglect, indeed!” she exclaimed to herself; ^^what 
claim have I on his time or attention, engaged as I am, for 
better or worse, and so forth.” 

But Greta^s engagement began to weigh upon her 
heavily. She wrote to M6eks saying that she hoped he 

£90 


A CLOSE COMMUNlOJfIST. 


291 


would ^‘finish that New Orleans business in a short time 
and return to the Pass/^ That gentleman replied that she 
might expect him any day/^ In a postscript he added, 
in his sprightly manner: — 

“ By the way, has that fellow Walker, or whatever his 
name is, who rescued you from the frequenter of the 
Haunted Oak, vamoosed as yet ?'’ 

Through this interrogatory Mr. Meeks had drawn his 
pen, so erasing it. And this defacement of his note inter- 
ested Greta more than the tidings of his return. Mere 
curiosity it was, however. Why should Simon wish to 
know whether Mr. Warren remained ? Not from jealousy, 
surely? Simon loved her, but at the same time was 
so amiable to other ladies, — Mrs. Rakeless, for exam- 
ple, — that he was not disposed to worry himself 
about Greta^s male friends. The time had been when 
Greta wished that she could make him jealous, but her 
efforts had been easily transparent to the bullet eyes 
of the infidel lawyer — skeptical, most of all, of her. Why 
then did Simon trouble himself to write an inquiry con- 
cerning Mr. Warren? And why, having done so, did he 
take the further trouble to make her think he did not 
want to know? 

One afternoon Greta walked alone over the same fields 
and shell road which ghe had trod with Warren. Then 
those rural paths were green with beauty and blithe with 
bird-song, but now — what a doleful change ! The rustic 
face of that country girl. Nature, was now all haggard 
and woe-begone, and the village lanes were a disenchanted 


292 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


desert. How absurd to wander tamely under those ragged 
oaks among the goat pastures, while Mr. Warren was 
accompanying that Creole girl, Miss Ardennes (Hateful 
Old Thing), to a horrid musicale, or, what was just as bad, 
off on a ride with her through the woods! Others thought 
that Creole creature very handsome — with her pale flower 
face, jet black hair, easy languor, and finished grace; but 
Greta would have taken her most solemn oath, that Miss 
Ardennes was exactly the reverse, very plain and common 
and really no better than she should be, and Greta could 
not see what Mr. Warren found to like in that Person. 

When would Meeks return and foil this faint queer 
hunger? But could he? The glamour of brass, thought 
Greta, will make a little child hold out its little hand with 
no less glee than the brightness of gold, unable to distin- 
guish between them; had she, then, been fascinated by 
yellow brass from Kansas City, and did its brazen fetters 
now clank around her, just when she was beginning to hear 
the ring of gold? .... But now that the gold had gone, 
sounding brass was better than no metal at all. 

And when Greta returned from her pedestrian exercise 
in the dull and tarnished fields, she felt a thrill of pleasure 
at seeing on the hotel register: 

“ Simon A. Meeks, Esq., Kansas City, Missouri.” 

Below this was the name of a stranger who registered as 

^^Kev. Abijah B. Sliker.” 

Greta had not expected Meeks by the unusual train 
which he took, — a fast freight which generally carried no 
passengers. It was then remarkable that the Rev. Mr. 


A CLOSE COMMON lOXIST. 


293 


Sliker should have chanced to hit upon the very same 
freight train, and to have had in view a journey coinciding 
so closely with un-Rev. Mr. Meeks. 

Who^s your friend? said Greta, when the travel- worn 
lover had descended from his room; has he taken you in 
tow to convert you to Christianity?” 

He tried to convert my hat into a cuspidor, coming 
up on the train,” said Meeks, wiping his brow with his 
handkerchief, and glancing uneasily around; I had some 
valuable papers in it, too; I think he’s crazy. But that’s 
all the missionary work that he undertook with me.” 

Did you ever see him before?” she asked; how’d he 
come to travel with you?” 

I ran across him once in New Orleans — coming out of 
a theatre after the play was over. That is, I was coming 
out — and he was in the street, looking wildly around. 
That’s rather scant grounds for a missionary to corner me 
on.” 

^‘Ain’t it ?” said Greta. 

The object of these inquiries might well have raised 
them. Venerable white hair fell over stooping shoulders 
which seemed bent with age; his apparently feeble old eyes 
were shaded with large green glasses, and when he walked, 
or tottered along, he leaned upon a stout cane. But soon 
it was generally decided that the poor old gentleman was no 
fitting subject for even polite amusement. Malaria and 
rheumatism had evidently driven him to this paradise of sea 
breeze and pine balm; indeed, so he himself casually stated 
to a sympathizing matron who asked. He talked little with 


294 


THE MADOi^NA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


any one, and seemed to court seclusion, saying that that 
befitted a man of God.” All day long the man of God 
would be on the verandah smoking a cigar, which he 
explained was good for asthma, or, retired in some quiet 
nook, reading either the Bible or a newspaper from which 
stared, in huge letters: 

The Baptistes Mission.” 

From which the denomination of this good minister 
was inferred. The sudden dropping of the old man upon 
the calm surface of the Pass caused a little ripple of 
excitement, which widened, and then in a short while, 
smoothed away. In a shorter period Greta had discovered 
that her love for Meeks was mortally ill. The affection 
which she had cherished so valiantly and which unwise 
opposition from her parents had strengthened, now lan- 
guished as if having suffered a hurt from which it could 
never recover. He began to seem to her like one of those 
brilliant phantasms of the Carnival Night, glorious with 
artificial light during its progress through the witchery of 
fairy land, but now seen by the faint dawn of day to be 
only a tawdry fioat.” Meeks as quickly discovered the 
loss of sympathy between them; what its precise cause was 
he could not say, but he forbore to press the agnostic 
argument which he had used last in Mrs. Slidell’s cosy 
back parlor in New Orleans at midnight. 

One evenihg the splendor of a moonlit sea seemed to 
invite these lovers, and Meeks and Greta rowed in a small 
skiff far out from the landing upon the restful waters. 
After a few ineffectual efforts to talk, both stopped by 


A CLOSE COMM UNION 1ST. 


295 


common consent, and the girl leaned her elbow on the 
boat^s gunwale and looked down into the darkly luminous 
depths. The tide rippled by their keel softly, pulsating 
as dejectedly as Greta^s heavy heart, and somehow made 
her think of a quaint old song about watery voices rising 
from overwhelmed cities — which had been sunk and lost 
beneath the sea. In a languid flush of returning senti- 
ment, she murmured to her lover, that she could almost 
hear chimes ringing up from the liquid world below, and 
the suppressed utterance of bubbling prayers and the bells 
of churches. 

It was the turning tide of her love, which if taken by 
Meeks aright, possibly might have led him on to better 
fortune. 

Pious prayers and holy chimes,” said he, ascend 
in vain, we know. What has been buried once, never 
comes back again.” 

Greta answered nothing. Her old love for the man 
beside her, had essayed to rise, and had been rudely jarred 
back by one whose only tenderness was that of sensual- 
ism and who was devoid alike of hope and fear. That love 
was buried then and’there, and it never came back again. 

Thereafter Meeks sought a lover's happiness with the 
charming Mrs. Rakeless. He grew to be with her all the 
time; they were away on horseback galloping into hidden 
fastnesses of pine forest, or on sailing flights across the 
Sound to desert Cat Island, attended only by a deaf boat- 
man, to whose flnancial interest it was to be also blind and 
forgetful to idiocy; they were on long rambles toward the 


296 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


bajou out of sight, and even around the hotel were play- 
ing billiards, dancing, and were otherwise constantly 
together, in entire defiance of matrons^ gossip. 

If Greta had not felt that her coldness — her perfectly 
whimsical aversion (she said) — had given Meeks the right 
to seek amusement elsewhere, she might have called him 
to account. But their temporary and partial divorce was 
by mutual and tacit assent, and so long and deep-seated 
an engagement as theirs had been was not to be severed 
without a more tangible and weighty cause than atten- 
tiveness to an agreeable married lady which her own 
arctic demeanor had caused. Moreover Meeks had care- 
fully stated that Mrs. Rakeless was troubled concerning a 
suit for separation which she had brought against her 
husband, and that she sought his company rather for the 
legal consolation which he could give her. He added that 
he often found her prostrated and nervous, whereupon he 
had soothed her, — to which charity Greta could not 
rationally object. 

In closing the eyes to hear more distinctly a doubtful 
call or a clock^s faint ticking, or in attending to some 
great singer’s power and skill in delicately shading sounds, 
we discover that the soul can awaken the ear to more per- 
fect hearing and summon its capacities to far greater 
exertion. ‘‘Did you hear that shriek?” says one man to 
another; at once the ears of both are made attent, are 
physically excited to catch even the feeblest cry, and 
caused to interpret mentally its meaning. If certain men- 
tal organs suspend action, the energy of others increase. 


A CLOSE COMMUNIONIST. 


297 


Being left alone by Warren, and leaving Meeks alone, 
Greta's powers of observation grew acute. To give an 
example of this auricular phenomenon: — 

One day she sat on the crown of that high bank which 
overlooks the sea just in front of the hotel. A fence was 
between her and the front verandah, and its close set 
palings, with intervening bushes that surrounded her, 
screened her from the hotel's view. She had secluded 
herself thus to concentrate her thoughts on Plato’s Immor- 
tality of the Soul, when a loud laugh from Mr. Meeks 
took her attention from immortality. Through inter- 
stices in bushes and fence she saw him on the nearest 
front or south verandah with Mrs. Rakeless, their heads 
close together in the confidential, consulting manner, 
peculiar to lawyer and client, while the plaintiff for 
limited divorce seemed listening to some very pleasing 
advice. The verandahs otherwise were empty. 

No, — there's Mr. Sliker, that poor lonely Baptist min- 
ister," thought Greta; ^^how sadly he must feel the con- 
trast of such gayety around him." The Rev. Mr. Sliker 
suddenly appeared around the corner on the west veran- 
dah near the two consulters; evidently they were not aware 
of his presence. He might have come out through a side 
window upon that west portico after the two others had 
taken their seats in front. Greta fell to musing: 

'^That lonely old Baptist, probably without wife or 
children — the last, withered lea'*' soon to drop off into 
his grave. O, dear!” 

She felt very sympathetic, as she saw him perusing, 


298 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


apparently, The Baptist’s Mission.” The conversation of 
Meeks and the golden beauty, at first somewhat noisy, 
became more and more subdued. What was Greta’s con- 
sternation then to see the- reverend missionary arise, and 
with silent, cat-like footsteps — as if he wore rubber soles 
— approach that corner near which Mrs. Rakeless and her 
counsel were sitting. There he stood, edging up to the 
corner with his back against the wall, until, all unsus- 
pected by them, he doubtless heard every word that they 
uttered. 

^^Well, did you ever!” exclaimed Greta. ^^Does he 
want to get legal advice for a separation I wonder? Or does 
he want to hear a joke? If he is unhappy at being alone, 
that’s a strange way to mingle with others.” 

In a moment more the sociable clergyman seemed to 
hear some approaching foot-fall along the gravel sidewalk. 
For he slipped away, raised ^^The Baptist’s Mission” before 
his green eyes, and became again the decrepit unfor- 
tunate that he usually was when not buoyed up by the 
excitement of hearing a lawyer talk. 

^MVell, did you ever?” repeated Greta. Then she 
added, Ye gods and little fishes! ” 


CHAPTEE XXIIL 


VOICES OF THE laOHT. 

“ And the night shall be filled -^th music, 

And the cares that infest the day 
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 

And as silently steal away.” 

The tranquil Southern afternoon, with its gentle light, 
went into the West, and its pursuer, a dream of golden 
twilight, now embraced the sleeping sea. As the day graa- 
ually changed to dusk, Greta sat alone on the South 
verandah — as still as the hush of the evening. The 
sunset glow had brightened all the world but her, and as if 
it was in her that the night lurked all day long, the fore- 
most of its gloom was that which appeared on her ; its 
earliest shades gathered over her face, and little by little 
around her black-robed figure there drew a pall of dark- 
ness as black and as heavy as an infidePs heart. 

Greta had been ill at ease that day, and very sullen. 
At one time she tried to read. At another she began vari- 
ous letters, which, in the next instant, she mailed in the 
waste-basket ; then she had gone upon the verandah and 
walked back and forth like a caged she-bear whose temper 
it was not prudent to chafe. So her mother, mildly 
reproving her, thereby had ascertained. As the evening 
wore on euclire players in the parlor urged her to join them 

3»9 


300 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


in a game ; she accepted, listlessly ‘ ‘ revoked ” for awhile, 
and then begged to be excused, and went out to join her 
twin-sister, — the Night. 

The stars were glistening overhead, and below, along 
the shallows of the coast, other stars seemed twinkling as 
fishing-boats at anchor swayed in the gentle Gulf swells, 
dipping their mast-head lights. Greta walked to the front 
gate of the hotel grounds' and listened to footsteps that 
came and went in the dullness of the village street ; she 
numbered them as she might count the ticking of a clock 
that numbered her days, until she lost them in the empty 
distance. She stood thus for a moment in doubt, then 
she unfolded a white shawl which she carried in her hand, 
flung it over her shoulders, and so again became a ghost, 
and wandered along the starlit road, like another uneasy 
spirit who goes abroad in the night seeking whom it may 
devour. 

She walked slowly for a while, as if as aimless as she 
usually was. Then an idea seemed to suggest itself 
abruptly, for all at once she began to go forward with a 
quick and determined step, as if drawn by a magnet which 
was not Meeks. Souls are seeds planted in the garden of 
earth, and Greta^s had begun to grow. The golden stair- 
way up which she was now climbing led away from her 
bestial lover and towards one ahead of her on that way, 
whose face she yearned to see. Rapidly walking, she soon 
came near a fine old Southern home, whose stately outlines, 
with cupolas and gables, rose clear and bold into dark blue 
among the stars. The park around was overgrown w’ith 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 


301 


trees and choked with bushes ; stone watch-dogs were 
prowling in the matted grass ; all was half-wild and 
unkempt like the million other Southern places whose 
lazy slave attendants were emancipated into the freedom 
of idleness. A beam of light shot across the ocean-like 
wilderness just as the light-house gleams across wilder 
seas ; bright rays from the parlor windows tinged interven- 
ing acacias and myrtles with a flush of red, and irresistibly 
drew Greta to dart passionately into the sea of vegetation — 
as if she were a stormy petrel lured by the glare of the flame 
to beat its life out against a light that was only meant for 
salvation. Entering the park through a gap in the hedge, 
she stole into a half-ruined summer-house which stood 
there not far from hedge and road — a rotting pagan temple. 

Greta hoped from Warren only the gracious affection of 
friendship. ^^Out of sight, out of mind,” had not yet proved 
to be the rule in her case. As the warmth of the sun to the 
flrst flowers of spring, so is the warmth of the imagination 
to love ; and as the separation of flowers from weeds and 
others may increase their luxuriance, so the sundering of 
two lovers may increase their attachment. Believing that 
Warren^s studied courtesy towards the slang-talking girl 
of the period meant that his spontaneous affection, was in 
combustion elsewhere, her own drawing towards him would 
have been painless, if only her rivals had kept out of 
sight. One of them was invisible even now, but Greta 
could hear her piano joined to Warren^s violin, in wedded 
harmony so very grateful that Greta forgot how rarely the 
mere bodies of musicians intermarry. 


302 


THE MADONJSTA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Honeysuckles grew over the trellis-work of the little 
pagoda of her hiding-place, and twined wavy bowers 
around her. Fir-trees guarded her, by a thick circu- 
lar rank around the heathen temple, concealing its ten- 
ant from the Ardennes’ villa and from the street. 
The night had been only starlit, but now gentle moon- 
light from over the horizon rose up and shed round her 
its tranquil charm. The omnipresent oaks also stood 
about as in the days when they were sentinels over that 
other infidel, the captain of the Nightingale, and their 
lengthened shadows on the long grass seemed refiected 
from a pond. A light wind stirred their curtain softly, 
at the same time bringing an offering of music from the 
ruddy windows to the goddess of the shrine. Appeased 
by this tribute, — after the manner of the ancient divine 
inhabitants of pagodas, — her anger at the sacrilegious Miss 
Ardennes somewhat abated. 

It soothes my savage breast,” she said, smiling grimly ; 
if that tacky old piano in the hotel parlor hadn’t had 
the rickets, and the paralysis in its tacky old keys, and 
the string-halt, spavin, cramp and pneumonia in its tacky 
old lungs, I guess that I too could have given Mr. Warren 
some music.” 

Greta, strange to say, was a talented musician. With 
the erratic course of a wilful child she had clung to one 
study, during her Meekish history, while pitching the 
others, metaphorically speaking, out of the window. So 
she recognized the far off sounds that came to her now, 

clear in the total stillness, — the weird staccato £tude of 

« 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 


303 


Rubinstein. As tapering Creole fingers gracefully darted 
over the ivory keys, Greta thought that not even the 
fabled singing trees at moonlight were more charming. 
Through a window partly raised, she saw, about the piano, 
an illuminated zone with Warren and his violin in its midst 
shaping arabesque music as intricate and delicate as Val- 
encia Spanish lace, while his pretty companion spun the 
central design. Rubinstein ended. Miss Ardennes plunged 
into a stormy £tude of Chopin, and close upon this pressed 
the sorcery of Dvorak’s Sclavonic dances. Then a tender 
‘‘ Love’s-Dream” of Liszt swelled and sunk, and the hid- 
den listener, always very susceptible to sweet melodies, 
almost wept with delight. But that untamed deer was 
more excited yet, when she heard Warren -singing to her, 
“ Thine my thoughts are, Margareta : ” — 

“ Sunset o’er the sea is stealing, 

Heaven its bright glow revealing, 

And while day is slowly dying, 

Distant bells seem softly sighing, 

‘ Thine my thoughts are, Margareta.’ ” 

All of which Margareta Lind of course appropriated for 
herself. Then Warren called to her again (as she would 
have alleged), as follows : — 

“ As I near the cliff’s steep danger, 

Stand in stranger lands a stranger. 

At my feet the waves are gleaming 
Thro’ my spirit floats, a dreaming, 

‘ Thine my thoughts are, Margareta ! ’ ” 

Beware, '^Magareta!” The music, soaring with thy 
sea-bird’s heart, now like a gull has sunk to the bosom of 
a still ocean, and there are no more flights of voice, violin 


304 


THE MADONNA OP PASS CHRISTIAN. 


or piano. The concert has finished, all is silent, and War- 
ren is about to come out upon the porch and down the 
central gravel path to the gate on his way homeward. In 
thy strategic position, Margareta, thy fianks — to use a war- 
like expression — are, as before said, protected from the 
house on one side and street on the other, but just in thy 
front is that center walk from which the approaching hos- 
•tile can hardly fail to discover thee, as the tell-tale moon- 
light once again gives thy lurking figure away. 

(And having found how exhaustive is a continued apos- 
trophe, the historian will return to un-figurative narra- 
tion.) 

Greta had fallen into a momentary trance. Lovers 
have them sometimes. 

Mr. Warren has sung those words with such feeling,’’ 
she exclaimed. Does he mean ’em? ” 

Their echo had scarcely died away from her ear — which 
held them considerably longer than they actually existed — 
when the door of the house quickly opened and shut, and 
Warren descended the stone steps toward her. 

Woman’s wit darts swiftly in an emergency, and never 
more so than in one like this. The pagan idol of the 
heathen pagoda jumped and ran, like the renowned 
startled fawn;” her nimble feet brushed across the grass, 
diagonally away from the walk, towards the gap in the 
hedge. She reached the avenue safely, and ran panting 
along toward the hotel. Presently the Ardennes’ gate 
back of her opened and noisily shut, announcing that War- 
ren’s view now covered the course of her flight, and that 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 


305 


he who was so rapid of foot must soon overtake the breath- 
less fugitive in her non-racing costume before she could 
arrive at the Mexican Gulf. To avoid this probable event, 
as well as the certain amazement with which passers- 
by would behold a fashionable young lady rushing 
through the streets of Pass Christian, bare headed, and 
white sheeted or shawled, like a ghost gone daft, — she 
stopped and glided into the deep shadows of some trees 
that fortunately were near. With the military promptness 
of a Napoleon, she then faced about, and advanced boldly 
on the enemy, employing the further stratagem, however, 
of seeming to saunter in a listless way, as if just out from 
the hotel. 

A few steps further and she had met the enemy. 

^'Miss Margareta Lind?” 

Sir I” she said, feigning ignorance of the pedestrian^s 
identity. Then she demurely added, ^^Oh! is it you, Mr. 
Warren?” 

Have you become a Knight Errant,” he asked, "" seek- 
ing adventures under Haunted Trees ? ” 

^"Not much!” she replied; felt restless in the 
sultry parlors and thought strolling alone in the fresh air 
would do me good. As for the Haunted Tree, the light- 
ning, as your Honor may have heard from 'Science,^ never 
strikes twice in the same place; Pve been struck once.” 

Greta felt like adding that she had been "‘struck,” 
twice, in another sense, — and under the same tree, but 
concluded to reserve her avowal until some other more 
appropriate season. 


30G 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


‘^Are you nervous asked Warren. 

‘‘Who wouldn^t be after the hobgoblin stories which 
you told me the other day. Tell me some more, please?^’ 

“Where shall I begin?^^ he asked, as they walked 
slowly on. 

“ If there^s any use in prayer, why didnT those Chris- 
tian churches take up Prof. Tyndall’s bet on the ‘prayer 
test?”’ she returned, in her peculiar dialect. 

“Confederate General Albert Sidney Johnston said that 
he knew no better prayer than ‘Thy will be done.’ What we 
have most ardently wished often turns out the worst that 
could have happened. The silent negative answer to a 
prayer no more tests prayer in general than the denial of 
a petition to the governor of a State signifies that the State 
has no governor.” 

“When hungry we want food,” said she; “is that 
desire a temptation of Satan? ” 

“No, certainly not,” said Warren, somewhat surprised 
at the question. 

“ Suppose that the desire to get food,” she continued, 
“is in a poor tramp, on a country road; he has no money, 
and the food seen and wished for hangs from a valuable 
pear tree in a stingy farmer’s orchard. Is that desire to 
satisfy hunger by getting another’s fruit — and appropriat- 
ing another’s property — a temptation of the devil? Do 
you believe that God allows personal devils — the reverse 
of personal angels — to go around tempting his created 
human beings to steal and break other commandments — 
notwithstanding His power could prevent these demons 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 


307 

from doing so; and, after the so-called fallen angels do 
this by His permission and His help (since all power comes 
from Him), that He is going to cruelly torment them here- 
after eternally, in fire and brimstone?” 

Your sympathy for evil beings is misplaced, I thinh,” 
said Warren; believe that the Creator set before us the 
principles and laws to which it is best that we should sub- 
mit, but that, to make us independently strong and faith- 
ful, He also gave us the power of free-will, the power to 
obey or not, and the ability to choose between good and 
evil. The earth is a great training-school, with an 
Almighty Head, — a great family with a Father divine. 
The object of our trials and tasks is much the same as that 
of tasking one^s muscles in the gymnasium with dumb- 
bells, horizontal -bar, and trapeze, — to increase our eternal 
strength.^ 

^‘The Bible speaks of two devils which met Jesus,” 
said Greta; they came out of the tombs, left the men 
and entered into swine, and Matthew says that they asked 
Him whether He had come to torment them before their 
time. If devils entered into men then, they do now, by 
God^s permission, only to be tormented for it at last. I 
think iCs strange that Jesus wasnT arrested and crucified 
for destroying those poor men’s herd of swine; — if all that 
is true I think the God of the Christians is a dandy!” 

‘‘The books of the Bible, remember, were written by 
men who did not all claim to be ‘inspired.’ They called 
themselves only common, human historians, or, like Paul, 
letter-writers;” said Warren. “It is bcdieved that the 


308 


THE HADOHNA OP PASS CHRISTIAJT. 


early priests probably interpolated human ideas of devils 
and damnation and other things. It would be strange 
indeed if books had passed through nineteen centuries of 
struggle without one letter, or one word, or one chapter 
having been changed. Some things in the gospels must 
have been hearsay; others were based on weakened recol- 
lection; others on imagination that filled out gaps in the 
original notes. Believe the substance of the story, remem- 
bering that the human writers were fallible human creat- 
ures like us, and you can explain away, then, some doubts 
that might otherwise shake your entire faith. The main 
thread of a witness’ testimony may be true, while he may 
be mistaken as to many particular facts. Merely suppose 
that God put on human shape: evidently it is not within 
the general design of creation that He should have showed 
men how they erred in thinking that the earth was flat, or 
that the sun moved round the earth; they must teach 
themselves all that and the art of printing, telegraphy, and 
the steam-engine. His human creatures must develop 
their strength without His crutches, and learn their errors 
by their own researches, just as a boy must puzzle out his 
arithmetic problems without his father helping him and 
working them out for him. So Jesus wrote nothing, — 
unlike the mock religionists, Joe Smith and Mahomet and 
the rest— but, in accordance with the universal divine plan, 
used fallible human instruments, caused all His teachings 
to be sifted through those who, like Paul, only saw as 
through a glass darkly and left all their errors, — religious, 
astronomical and scientific, — to be discovered by us.” 


VOICES OF THE HIGHT. 


309 


**11 a man should say that he saw another man restore 
a dead child to life yesterday, I should think that he was 
either crazy or telling a fib,"' observed Greta ; shouldn't 
you, Mr. Warren?" 

‘‘I should be disposed to doubt him," returned that 
gentleman. 

"'Yet a man writes that the man Elijah did raise a 
child from the dead, and Jesus quoted the law and the 
prophets and did not deny their monstrous stories. Do 
you wonder that I am incredulous?" 

"Inasmuch as the Creator has placed thinking beings 
in this world," replied Warren, "with power to do good 
or ill, nothing seems more probable than that He should 
have visited them in human shape, and told His talking 
and listening subjects what to do. So I believe in Christ. 
But that is very different from believing that all the 
human annalists who took it upon themselves to write 
about Him were also gods, — gods to the extent of what 
they uttered. ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me ' 
applies to Moses and the other penmen of the Bible. Wor- 
ship neither them nor make an idol of their writings." 

For a moment Warren paused, as if in deep thought. 
Then he continued: 

"Among the remarks which Christ is reported to have 
said, is that He had many things to tell his disciples 
which they could not bear hearing. Such a remark must 
have aroused curiosity and attention, and was therefore 
doubtless remembered and reported correctly. I believe 
it not impossible that some of. those hard sayings left 


310 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


unsaid were that many reputed events of Jewish history 
were fables. It would do no harm to let the disciples 
retain their belief in Joshua’s sun standing still, or that 
the sun — as they supposed — moved round the earth. In 
His divine wisdom He doubtless saw that if He told His 
disciples everything that could be known — for instance, 
that people could talk to each other three thousand miles 
apart by means of a wire, or that the evidently flat world 
was round, he would be denounced as a silly, ranting 
imposter, as only a juggler of marvelous and inexplicable 
skill. He foresaw how impossible it would be for the 
great truths of Christianity to make headway against the 
conceited human race, if burdened with assertions so 
incredible. Centuries ago the Church historians and 
priests wrote that Galileo lied when he said that the earth 
moves; but does that impair their credibility aa^ to what 
they wrote of the life of Caesar, or the councils of the 
Church? Such is not the rule of courts for judging the 
different portions of the testimony of honest but mistaken 
witnesses. The literal interpretation of the biblical 
legends kills them for all good purposes, and, as in Galileo’s 
case, arrests the development of creation. It is harmless 
either to believe or disbelieve in William Tell, in the she- 
wolf foster-mother of Romulus and Remus, or in Balaam’s 
talking ass, or in Samson, or in Hercules ; but it does 
do harm to believe that Christ’s sayings were all false, 
that He did not prove the resurrection by dying publicly 
and rising in three days, and that He did not so give to 
the world a hope and an aim which would take its sins 
away.” 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 


311 


^'Mr. Plato/^ said Greta, am an ignorant goose, 
as you see, unworthy to be thy disciple ; but will vou 
please give me just one more wee lecture 

The night is not late,” replied Mr. Plato, as he led 
the goose to a wooden bench on the grass by the roadside, 
so we may sit down here for a few minutes.” 

All right,” answered the disciple. 

^'We are under the mistletoe,” he observed, pointing 
to leaves which hung from an oak over their heads. 

‘^Yes,” she said, rather startled. 

^^Once the mistletoe began life with good intentions, 
and was self-supporting. At length, however, fixing 
curious suckers into neighboring oaks like these, it experi- 
mented a little, and finally took all its food ready-made 
from the sap of its host. Its own nutrimental organs, 
being disused, were destroyed by nature, until the mistle- 
toe became degraded, without root, and with a stem that 
can not bear its own weight. Long persistence downward 
makes the young mistletoe born lazy ; the berries glue 
themselves to an adjacent branch and sprout there.” 

‘^Yet why call them ^ degraded?^ What more can a 
plant or an animal do than eat, drink, and die to-morrow, 

as my ” Greta was going to add: ^^As my friend, 

Mr. Meeks, holds,” but she considered, and then wished 
she could bury that counselor-at-law. 

'^Nature’s God has commanded the evolution of facul- 
ties and the development of talents. The parasite dis- 
obeys, wanting only food and shelter, and trying to get 
lifers benefits while indolently evading its responsibilities. 


312 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


But nature does not let such transgressors slip through 
her fingers/^ 

She don^t seem to kick very hard, all tne same,^' 
observed Platons disciple. 

Hermit crabs experience lives of hardship, dashed by 
waves among jagged rocks, and attacked by submarine 
pirates. How to protect themselves has been with them a 
problem. In considering it, their ancestors cleverly 
planned to use the cast-off shells of molluscs. Since then 
this crab has ceased to debate on its public weal, and 
dwells in its second-hand house with complacency in its 
device of dodging work. Although its laziness cost it no 
moral qualms, yet under a searching eye its expedient 
seems not worthy of imitation by us. Its body has suf- 
fered by as much as it borrows ; and several vital organs 
have died out ; its cheap dodge for safety has seriously 
limited its formerly independent sphere. It was origi- 
nally destined to a better fate. Its ancestors were perfect 
crustaceans. But when their lazy descendant began to 
rely on outside aid, it began to slide. When safe and 
sheltered, its vigilance relaxed; from want of exercise it 
became feeble, and ultimately, under a law more unyield- 
ing than the Mosaic, the hermit became powerless to 
move its disused narts, lost them altogether, and other- 
wise declined.^^ 

Greta had seen the sorry body of the hermit crab when 
drawn from its foreign shell. There were many at Pass 
Christian. 

‘‘ They do look woe-begone,^^ she admitted. 


VOICES OF THE KIGIIT. 


313 


^^The limbs of the backsliding hermit are wasted away, 
and while other crabs lead a free and roving life, its own 
cumbrous acquisition, like too much wealth, ties it to 
earth. Here we have a lesson within a lesson. Within 
the body of the hermit-crab is often a minute organism, of 
bean-like shape, and whose delicate roots branch through 
the craVs flesh. This is a full-grown animal, 2^, sacculina, 
but it has neither legs, nor eyes, nor mouth, nor throat, 
nor stomach. Within its rude and all but inanimate frame 
no trace of structure is to be detected. Its twining, thiev- 
ish roots automatically imbibe its ready-prepared nourish- 
ment from ■ the crab. It boards at the expense of this 
host, who shelters, feeds and gives it all it wants — at 
flrst sight a very satisfactory arrangement. But an 
inquiry into its biography discloses a career downward 
without a parallel except in our own race. The sacculina’s 
embryo, very unlike the adult, briskly paddles through the 
water outside with six feet, active and independent; it 
industriously gets its food and gallantly escapes its ene- 
mies. But hereditary parasitism taints its blood. The 
tiny body doubles up, its four hind limbs change to twelve 
short swimming organs, and two long arrows appear in 
front. So transformed, the saccuUna starts out to seek a 
poor-house. Fate meets the transgressor half way, and in 
an evil hour the saccuUna encounters the hermit. The 
two arrows pierce the crab and the pauper enters, grad- 
ually assumes the form of a sac, drops off its swimming 
feet and settles down as a parasite.” 


314 


THE MADONHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


‘^Taking it easy/^ suggested Greta; ‘‘but perhaps it 
was built that way in the beginning by its star of destiny. ' 

“Others like it develop through higher and higher 
stages, finally reaching the perfection of shrimp or lobster. 
But the saccidina rejects its chances and shrinks from 
lifers battle. Disregard of evolution and evading work is 
a double crime, and nature, in its own remarkable way, 
doles out punishment little by little, in imperceptible 
degrees, by the logical results of evasion carried on within 
the sinner’s idle self. It is made a mere sack, doomed to 
endless imprisonment and a living death. Conditions 
which easily yield food and other comforts cause downfall. 
Just as Rome staggered and fell under the weight of the 
riches of the ancient world, so a girl can decline through 
having a fortune.” 

“Do you think, Mr. Warren,” she asked, “that the 
parasitic life of the active, highly-gifted insect who walks 
by your side will soon display the same sad spectacle — that 
my limbs, jaws, eyes and ears will soon drop off, until I 
become a mere sack — absorbing nourishment?” 

“Nations prematurely fallen,” he replied, gravely, 
“buried in the graves of their own effeminacy, newly 
rich through quick speculation, victims of inheritance, 
witness the unrelenting consequences of stagnation and 
idleness. Our bodily, mental and spiritual wants do not 
supply themselves. Nature produces coal, but man must 
dig and carry it. ‘An idle life,’ says Goethe, ‘ is death 
anticipated.’ To develop immortal faculties we must work 
out within ourselves our own salvation.” 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 


315 


There was a tinge of sadness in Warren’s voice as he 
finished speaking to the light and thoughtless girl by his 
side. The two then sat in silence, quietly experiencing 
the beauty of the night. A mist lay in the angle or hol- 
low between the level of the sea before them and the steep 
acclivity at their feet — not a dull, thick fog, but light and 
hazy, rather like the gauzy veil over the face of a Turkish 
beauty. Greta thought it resembled the mist which veiled 
her spiritual vision; thinning now, it lent the charm of 
vagueness and anticipation to the glories faintly visible. 

A sound broke in upon that stillness. In a moment 
they became aware of the splash of Mvancing.oars below 
them in that vapory hollow. They heard the rhythmical 
beat of the rowers as they approached with swift and 
measured strokes; then two nearing voices penetrated the 
quiet, sounding preternaturally clear. 

What did you say his name was?” asked one. 

‘‘ Meeks,” was the answer that came up out of the fog 
to where the two were hidden in shadows. A cold pre- 
monitory thrill ran over Greta, and she gave ear so 
acutely and motionless that if one of those voyagers had 
let a pin drop by way of experiment she would have 
detected it. 

^^Yes, Meeks,” continued the speaker. ‘^Well, as 
I was saying, he tried to sell his interest in the build- 
ings that were burned to prepare to go to housekeeping 
with a young wife up North. The Slidells found 
it out in some way — through a Mrs. Bumm or Dunn or 
some such boarder, and young Slidell, being in the insur- 
ance company, reported it.” 


316 


THE MADOXNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Which made the company slightly suspicious, eh?^^ 

"'Slightly. So, to investigate, they put — — — 
found — '’^and then the conversation became undistinguish- 
able, and finally inaudible, only the stroke, stroke, of oars 
remaining on their receding way to some great villa^s 
wharf, beating only less loud than the throbs of Greta^s 
own heart. 

If Warren had any additional thoughts concerning 
Meeks they merged into the quiet resolution that he 
would not be the first to prosecute him. 

"I suppose those strangers who went by were quite 
unaware how voices from over the water pierce the atmos- 
phere of a calm night like this,” said he, with gravity; 
"the acoustics of the sea are somewhat curious.” 

Greta felt that Warren kindly attempted to change the 
subject from the awkward suggestion made by the myste- 
rious revelation of the unseen rowers, and she said nothing. 
They left their seat and walked towards the hotel for some 
distance in silence. 

"You have taught me that the world is full of happy 
interest,” she at length murmured. "Flowers, birds and 
the ephemeral insects of a summer^s day, all teach delight- 
ful lessors. To eat and sleep is not life, I know, and I 
shall struggle towards the light. As soon as we reach 
Chicago I shall return to school. I have been a willful 
child and have flung away golden days and years. You 
have lifted a curtain from pictures of this world and per- 
haps the next, of which I had never dreamed. I want 
now to discipline my mind to understand them, and be 
less a sack, — a " sacculina.'” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


AN^ ACROBAT OF THE NIGHT 

“ The mermaid comes from the ocean 
Beside me sitting down, 

Her white breast’s breathing motion 
I see through the gossamer gown.” 

Never look backward/^ said Warren, encouragingly; 
never pause with anxiety to contemplate 'the future, 
but always go higher in faithful work, and the noble mate- 
rial of your character, finer than Parian marble, will 
acquire a finish and glory more beautiful than the divin- 
es t forms of the old Greek sculptors. 

They entered the hotel. Warren bade Greta good- 
night in the lower, outer corridor, and passed through the 
parlor and by a stairway from the reading-room to his 
chamber. It was then about ten o^clock. Greta stopped 
below ostensibly to write a letter to a New Orleans book- 
seller. She finished it, mailed it at the clerk^s desk, and 
then went out on the verandah alone. 

What meant those ominous words from the unknown 
boatmen — Meeks — suspicion — insurance company,^^and 
the rest? She pondered and recalled something that he 
had told her about having an insured interest in the great 
block of buildings which had taken fire after the Carni- 
yq \, — supposedly from ‘Hhe illuminations.^^ He had left 

317 


318 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


her quickly after the bail was over. Could he have gone 
to the buildings afterwards burned, and, having the key 
to some inside office, secretly entered, and cautiously kin- 
dled an interior fire to get the insurance, relying on the 
probability that no suspicion would attach when all was 
ablaze with light and fire? 

Greta shivered. Meeks was fearless, she knew, and 
capable, with his eat-drink-and-be-merry faith, of almost 
anything heroic in wickedness ; yet — was he not too calculat- 
ing to incur the danger of the penitentiary ? But might he 
not estimate that no one would suspect a fire as incendiary 
which started on a night when the whole city fiamed with 
carnival ignitions ? The possibility that her lover was 
capable of committing arson for money was something 
new. Her affection for him had been cooling, until now, 
when it was as cold and gray as a November day. But there 
came, like the Indian summer of the waning year, a sud- 
den throb of sympathy for a man who might be — very 
likely was^^ — falsely accused; she determined not to break 
with him while under so terrible a suspicion, but to sup- 
port him nobly and cheer him until his guilt was proved, 
or until his trial declared him innocent, and then do as 
her feelings dictated. 

You who enter Gethsemane, and to whose lips the cup 
of bitterness presents itself, and who pray that it may pass 
away, remember that it is not dull, stony, senseless fate 
torturing you without purpose, but the paternal discipline 
of Him who Himself experienced the pains of human 
death that mortals might know how great was divine love. 


A2sr ACROBAT OF THE NIGHT. 


319 


Greta^s heartache was soothed by some such contempla- 
tion. With child-like elasticity she next called to mind a 
tiny garden in one corner of the hotel grounds. Mari- 
golds were growing there, and she considered how precious 
a bouquet would be one which could weave some happier 
spell over her dreams that night than the boatmen had 
cast. No sooner had the caprice taken possession of her 
than she was off the verandah and on the plot of grass. 
Her footsteps were as light as other midnight fays who 
dance on the dew-glistening green, and it was a fairy-like 
being whose ravishing form bent over the exhaling mari- 
golds. It chanced that these were at the foot of a certain 
tree that was young and tall. Its trunk was slender, and 
its lowest branches were high above the ground, but these 
were covered so thickly with leaves, that she could not see 
into the recesses within the foliage. 

As the girl plucked, she heard a rustling in this bushy 
hiding-place immediately overhead. It brought her 
twitching to a sudden pause. She listened. All around 
was very quiet. The staid hotel had early gone to bed, 
and was now asleep. So she continued gathering flowers, 
not completely frightened, but perhaps a little more hast- 
ily than before, and, probably, with just a little anxiety. 
A check of that kind, after Greta's recent experience, was 
startling. 

She had no sooner begun again, when she was conscious 
of another shaking of branches. Looking narrowly 
towards the spot from which it seemed to come, she fancied 
that she could almost discern a figure. Its outlines, under 


320 


THE MAHOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


passing clouds of the sky, were obscure ; did it belong to 
other than the vegetable kingdom ? Was it a catamount ? 
Another escaped lunatic ? Her adventures had been such 
that she cared not to inquire ; but, just as she turned to 
run from possibly another Haunted Oak, the stirring 
branches above crackled and snapped, a bough broke, and 
down through the foliage a dark form came plunging, 
turned a somersault in the air, nimbly alighted on its feet, 
and thereupon revealed itself to her astounded self as 
another instance of the generally happening of the unex- 
pected, — namely, Kev. Abijah B. Sliker, the Baptist 
minister ! ^ 

Hard to decide, would it have been, which was the 
more amazed — Greta or this divine. An aged gentleman, 
of the last decrepitude, had suddenly discovered the agil- 
ity of ^^a circus man,^^ — as Greta termed a professional 
gymnast. For a moment she was struck dumb. The high 
silk ‘^stove-pipe” hat which the clergyman generally 
wore — and a very rusty stove-pipe it was — had been ex- 
changed for a soft felt that slouched over his eyes. But 
the slouch was useless here, and he perceived that Greta 
recognized him. So he raised the flap of the brim, and 
pushed his hat to the back of his head, in that easy, 
benign way common to all good ministers. Then he 
looked at her with a mild smile. She, yet staring, looked 
up along the smooth, glossy trunk, and recalled certain 
lines which she had sung in other days and which were so 
fraught with the blessed memories of childhood : — 










' 1 ^ • 

£.>''Vv 


' ^ Tr f.*'-*- 




■'■■S' 




■•' V‘' ■/■ 


V 


V 


/ 




::/-■' m 


G 












« *4 


» 


.rJ 


-!-■ ^ ^ 


• »* 




% 


a. - 

.*'J 


:• »f ^ . '•' v 



AK ACROBAT OF TUE KIGHT. 


321 


“Sallie dumb up the greas ed pole. 

I come climbing after. 

As I dumb up, Sallie dumb down, 

And we caused me some laughter.” 

But Greta felt that this was no time for jest, and, 
besides, she ‘^had an idea:’^ 

Aren^t you ashamed she exclaimed. 

‘^May heaven bless you, my dear lamb,” answered the 
pastor, ^^my good old wife^s doctor ordered me to exercise. 
I can^t find nothing nowise so healthy and joyful and 
gladsome, as a-climbing trees, heavenward, — nearer, nearer 
to Thee!” 

The last was not addressed to Greta. The eaves of 
the hotel received the piously upward glance of Rev. 
Abijah B. Sliker. It will be remembered that the latter 
was thought to be half-witted; whether intentionally or 
not, he was filling that character. 

I think you might climb heavenward on some tree 
that doesnT look right down into a lady^s room! ” she said, 
with vehemence. 

^'May Ephraim go back to Egypt and eat unclean 
things in Assyria, before this servant of the Lord would 
lift up his eyes into a lady^s bed-chamber, or down them 
there! But what room do you mean, my lamb? Woe 
unto me!” 

The lamb pointed to a lighted window of the second 
story. All other rooms along that row were darkened, their 
occupants presumably being asleep. The lower half of this 
window was screened by a Venetian blind which hid the 
two who might be within from anyone below. But the 


322 


THE MADONIsA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


upper half blinds were thrown back as if for ventilation, 
the window being lowered at the top. If Rev. Mr. Sliker 
wanted to know what occurred in that room, and the key- 
hole of its door was unavailable, he could not have suc- 
ceeded better than by ascending this very tree. 

^‘That^s Mrs. Rakeless^ room,^’ she answered. If 
ever you do that again, 1^11 tell on you.'’^ 

0 Lord of hosts, that judgest righteously, that tryest 
the reins and the heart, reveal unto this unbeliever my 
cause! Ken thy servant do iniquity? Ken an Ethiopian 
change his spots or a leopard his skin ? Shall not repent- 
ance overtake her, as a woman in travail 

That’s enough,” said she; unless you want to be 
expelled from your church and carried away captive into 
Babylon’s lock-up by a police cop, have a care what you 
do. Good night.” 

She entered the hotel and turned her thoughts towards 
the morrow, when she would have a good talk ” with 
Meeks, and tell him what the voices from the mist had 
informed her. But marigolds did not banish Greta’s ner- 
vousness that night. She lay awake until it was nearly 
morning, and then sunk into a sleep from which she was 
not aroused until nearly eleven o’clock on the following 
forenoon. By that hour, Meeks, Mrs. Rakeless and others, 
as she was told, had gone away for the day on some excur- 
sion and would not return until late at night. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE LORELEY. 

“ There is a dangerous silence in that hour, 

A stillness, which leaves room for the full soul 
To open all itself, without the power 
Of calling wholly back its self-control ; 

The silver light which, hallowing tree and tower, 

Sheds beauty and deep softness o’er the whole, 

Breathes also to the heart, and o’er it throws 
A loving languor, which is not repose ,” — Don Juan. 

In the evening of that next day when Greta awoke so 
late, Warren was walking along the shell-road with a lady. 
In itself this was nothing remarkable. But that lady 
was one such that if you had caught one glimpse of her you 
might have turned to look again, and perhaps, under 
favorable circumstances, three times. However many the 
glances at that fascinating picture, the most multitudi- 
nous, as Greta would have assured you, could not have 
phased her,” For his fair companion this evening was 
not the statuesque Miss Lind, nor was it the musical 
creole, Miss Ardennes. The latter, indeed, had returned 
for a while to New Orleans. Elegantly dressed was this 
one, and very handsome. Her large, dark eyes shone with 
a fire only half-subdued by their long and drooping 
lashes ; her fair brow, under clustering black hair, was 
resplendent with understanding, and her graceful mien dis- 
tinguished her as being none of your common sort. She 


324 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHKISTIAK. 

clung to Warreii^s arm as they walked, leaning closely, and, 
if truth be told, tenderly . Often her bright eyes would, 
wander to his, with tempting smiles, and then fall. Does 
anyone remeniber Mrs. Ribold? 

Somehow Warren had received the impression that 
Mrs. Ribold was a widow. Never more mistaken! — none 
more wedded than she. But it happened that he had 
never heard of her lawful husband, and the lady, by one 
of those remarkable fatalities which sometimes do occur, 
had neglected, accidentally, to inform Mr. W’arren that she 
was not open to the solicitation of courtship. Of late he 
had seen her frequently and had concluded that ‘‘she was 
a charming and cultured woman/’ But the charming and 
cultured woman had impregnated Mr. Warren with a cer- 
tain degree of uncertainty and embarrassment, and little 
things happened daily that plunged him deeper in doubt 
until finally his distress would have won your warmest 
sympathy. Why did those sweet glances wander so often 
and often towards him? Why did those fiery javelins from 
her disciplined brave eyes encounter his, turn as he would, 
unerring as the missiles from the rifle of accurate Buffalo 
Bill ? Surely she W’as not languishing in love? What had 
he done that this enchanting husbandless woman should 
offer him her heart? Yet, — it might be. Perhaps. So 
he had invited her to an evening stroll, designing to be 
amiable, but nothing more, benevolent but firm, temper- 
ate and passionless, thus letting the misguided beauty 
know — nicely, agreeably and by gradual approaches, by 
the incidents of tone and manner rather tlum by direct 
language, — that their wedlock could never be. 


THE LORELEY. 


325 


It was a wooing evening, and the year’s sweet spring- 
time; and in the soft rapture of the night the fields and 
roads and gardens were very calm and beautiful. The day 
had been fine and warm; many pleasure parties were out 
sailing or rowing on the Sound, and in the mellowing dis- 
tance on the water glimmering white sails rose from 
unseen boats, and, like noiseless ghosts, flitted hither and 
thither. Now and then came the shrill laughter of 
women or the deep shouts of men, or musical voices sing- 
ing — tempered by their airy flight across the smooth breast 
of the sea. Blooming flowers and budding leaves and the 
Southern spring equipped a mingled host of pleasing and 
delicate perfumes. A thrush had been singing in the twi- 
light near them, and its tune was just now still, when the 
bewitching, beautiful silence was broken by the only more 
bewitching voice of Mrs. Eibold. 

Do you love the Pass, my dear Mr. Warren? ” 

‘‘ Very much indeed.” 

The days pass like a dream. How delightful would it 
be,” said the lady, could we be here always!” 

have been very much enamored of the 

place.” 

Have you felt anything sweeter than this?” And she 
pressed just a little nearer to the involuntary gallant, and 
looked full in his attentive face. 

Never,” said Warren, earnestly, feeling the balmy 
evening breeze and discerning the pine woods’ fragrance. 
But he considered. And then his forehead was abruptly 
suffused with a red color. 


326 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


After which there was an ominous pause, — a stillness in 
which Mrs. Ribold was heard to sigh. 

^^Your Christian name is Paul, is it not, Mr. War- 
ren?'" 

Ye — yes, — that is it." 

Thank you, my — . Mine is Virginia." 

Another pause. Meanwhile the carmine which mantled 
the gentleman's face began to change to a cold pallor. 

^^Paul and Virginia," she softly said; ^^what a coinci- 
dence ! " 

Those were interesting lovers," he also murmured, 
and even more faintly, — ^in the sinking hope of so divert- 
ing the conversation into the channel of ancient history. 
But he fatally misplaced the emphasis of his suggestion. 

Yes; they were. Why can not others be even more 
so? " she' asked, with an arch smile. 

The ancient historian awkwardly paused. But Mrs. 
Ribold did not. 

^ Paul,' what a darling name," she mused. ‘Paul,' " 
and the way she dwelt upon it was tender and expressive. 

“That reminds me," she went on, “of Apollo. I've 
read somewhere in the what's-its-name, about Paul water- 
ing and Apollo planting. Do you know I just dote on your 
compeer, Apollo, Paul? And — Oh! Mr. Warren, I mean," 
slie corrected, with pretty confusion, “ are you fond of 
Apollo and poetry?" 

“ I — am — somewhat fond of poetry," admitted Warren, 
very guardedly. 

“ Yes, I know; you will be more so when we know one 


THE LORELEY. 


327 


another more intimately, and have been with each other 
to a greater degree, won^t you?^^ said she, softly. 

‘‘ I am sure of that,^’ said Paul, warmly, and with a 
mental reservation. 

You are like a rainbow. Yes, let us hope. Ah, how 
shackled we are by cold society's laws! Why are we not 
more consonant to nature? We yearn — dear me! — and 
throb and gush and impulsively sigh; then why not still 
these sighs, why may we not be more like those who dwelt 
under the fig-trees of Eden? ” 

Paul muttered something that sounded cruelly like 
they were not in Eden now.” 

Let us be open and ingenuous,” she continued, 
‘‘without any horrid conventionality, with none of those 
dreadfully artificial social rules which, though cast-iron, 
yet restrain endearments only before others, and which do 
not prevent that freer play when off alone under the oaks^ 
while night, with fellow-feeling, drops her friendly cur- 
tain upon the scene.” 

Another pause, accompanied by incoherent mumblings 
from Paul. 

“ Sometimes we must rendezvous at that darkey Meth- 
odist church back of the town in the woods. Those night 
meetings which we may attend are too ridiculous.” 

“You have been there?” asked Paul, eagerly, catching 
at the straw of a change of subject. It chanced that he 
looked at her then, and saw that her face was as luminous, 
for one infinitesimal instant, as Mephistopheles^ is repre- 
sented upon the stage. There was a brief fiash, like 
spectral lightning. 


328 


THE 3IAD0XXA OF PASS CIIKJSTIAX. 


! yes,” she then answered, ^^one Sunday night 
before Mardi Gras.” 

Tell me about it do. I am interested in religious 
matters.” 

On that Sunday night,” she obligingly began, being 
at the Pass, I went to the little Methodist negro church, 
with a small party of us. The text of the divine who 
occupied that pulpit was taken from the forty-sixth chap- 
ter of Genesis, 'The souls that came out of Jacobis loins, 
besides Jacobis sons^ wives.' 

" This was the text, but as for the subject of the 
sermon, in accordance with a habit of many ministers of 
the gospel, it was a sort of a tertiary derivative or aberra- 
tion of ideas suggested by words in the text dislocated ; 
and the discourse that night was upon the fruitful topic 
of the Loins of Jacop, — and the connection which they have 
with the various small effulgent bodies of the heavens. 

" The object was to draw a certain parallel, and I think 
a certain correspondence was induced. The pastor spoke 
of Jupiter and his moons, which, he affirmed, did not 
come from the Loins of Jacop. He then ardently described 
Saturn and his rings, but explained that they were not 
from the Loins of Jacop, — as one might innocently suppose. 
He enumerated the comets and the sun, but they, he 
stated, notwithstanding all their glory, did not come from 
the Loins of Jacop. Even charming Venus, with seduc- 
tions presumably irresistible by an old patriarch, said he, 
'can't have that honor to-night,' and naughty Venus did 
not succeed in accomplishing her desperate purpose con- 


THE LORELEY. 


320 


cerning Jacob’s Joins, and did not come therefrom. Mars 
failed even more signally — 0! would you button my 
glove ? ” 

Her startled escort fumbled in the dark. 

‘^That last button — up my sleeve/’ displaying a plump 
wMl-rounded arm. . 

‘"Ah ! dear, thanks ; how I like a firm, manly grasp.” 

The most delicate operation which the Plato of Pass 
Christian had ever undertaken was safely concluded. 

“ Let me see,” she resumed, "" where did I leave off ? 
Venus and the old patriarch ? ” 

""Yes.” 

‘"Then the great preacher dragged in Sirius, the 
Pleiades, the entire Milky Way, the pole star, and I forget 
how many others, until, having impressed us all by this 
novel and ingenious view of Jacop’s relation to the stellar 
system, seeing that the hour grew late, and foreseeing that 
if he brought up the other yet unmentioned stars of the 
catalogue, no ime would remain for hints concerning the 
widow’s mite, the pastor wound up his yarn in a bawl, 
shouting, in a grand, slamming climax, n tones of 
thunder calculated to reach the "Mexican Gulf ’ and its 
sinners, that one star did come from those loins of Jacob, 
and that was — what do you suppose ? ” 

"" The star which wise men saw in the East ?” 

""You have won the prize-cake, take the bride. The 
anxious minds of that astronomical congregation felt 
relieved when the origin of that neriodical. QQHiet was, 
thus settled 


330 


THE MADONNA OF PAS§ CHRISTIAN. 


‘^The ignorant speaker/*'’ said Warren, ‘^doubtless 
confused the verse : ^ There shall come a star out of Jacob, 
and a sceptre shall rise out of Israel, and smite the corners 
of Moab/ in the twent3^-fourth chapter of Numbers.” 

‘^That^s it,” assented Mrs. Ribold. 

• It must have been very amusingj — high philosophy 
in low places.” 

‘^You love philosophy ?” she asked. 

It was not with his usual zeal for philosophers that 
Warren admitted his sentiments thereunto to be not 
unfavorable. 

“And I love poetry,” she responded. “How nice! 
Now let us combine the two (Warren held his breath), 
making the twain one, as it were. You with your 
philosophy, I with my poetry. I will recite a poem which I 
found hard to learn; as I do so, please show me the philos- 
ophy of memorizing ? ” 

“ Proceed,” said Paul, recovering some equanimity. 

It chanced that a very long wharf extended across the 
shallow water in front of the hotel out to a point deep 
enough for the landing of pleasure yachts. It was un- 
roofed, and on a beautiful evening like that one Iformed 
a pleasant walk, of a quarter of a mile in length. Fre- 
quented as it was by boatmen and in full view of the hotel, 
the designing Paul had turned upon this with a vague 
notion of freedom from danger. She, nothing loth, had 
led him on to the further end, so far out as to seem 
quite out to sea. Here the wharf slightly widened, was 
sheltered by a low roof, and was furnished with long 


THE LORELEY. 


331 


benches. With water, water, all around, they sat down, 
and Paul observed with uneasiness that they were all 
alone. 

An act of memory,’’ he burst out, with extraordinary 
rapidity, is one in which the important ingredients of an 
Mct of previous knowledge are more or less re-known, and 
in their essential relations. What do you call this place?” 
This philosophical fish, in short, 'dived from its voracious 
pursuer into the dryest and most abstract region, 
and the furtherest removed from love that his invention 
could suggest, and then turned, as silly fishes do, right 
into the overtaking destroyer. 

What do I call it?” she returned. “ I think it ought 
to be called some such fanciful name as Cozy Den, or, since 
it is the favorite resort of lovers, call it Lovers’ Retreat. 
Don’t you?” 

‘^That would be ‘fanciful,’” said Paul, grimly; “but 
now tell me, what is it called ? ” 

“ The Conservatory.” 

“That title seems queer and misplaced,” replied the 
cavalier; “why is it called Conservatory, pray?” 

“Because it is a species of hot-house; we take here 
such delicate, backward plants as can not be brought to 
flower and fructify elsewhere,— won’t unfold their modest 
buds unless tenderly nourished, don’t you know?” 

The Bostonian knew. And he was then taken for a 
greenhouse vegetable. Ye shades of Plato! 

“The cultivation of the memory,” he hastily resumed, 
“is a subject which has been earnestly discussed by many 


332 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

writers^ and is of practical interest to all. Many complain 
of theirs as being generally defective. Others are sensible 
of painful failures in respect to certain classes of objects, 
as, passages from familiar authors. The question is often 
anxiously put: How can these defects be overcome 

‘‘That is what I ‘anxiously’ put,^^ she said. “I have 
been particularly ‘ sensible of a painful failure ^ in the 
illustration which I will now give: — 

‘ My love has raven curls 

But forget-me-not blue eyes, — 

She’s the beauty of all the girls. 

Oh! Would that my courage could rise! 

Then, I could ki.ss her cheek, 

Or, venture her lips to t*aste; 

But now, — I shyly envy the girdle 
That hugs her round her waist. ’ 

How would you remember that?” 

“All rules may be summed up thus,” said he, nerv- 
ously: “To remember anything you must attend to it. 
And in order to attend, you must either find or create an 
interest in the objects to be attended to. If possible, 
this interest must be felt in the objects themselves as 
directly related to your own wishes, feelings, and pur- 
poses.” 

“ Directly related to your own wishes, feelings and 
purposes in this case would be, ‘forget-me-not, my love, 
courage rise, kiss and hug around waist’? ” 

“Yes,” said the psychologist, sagely, “in memorizing 
I would either find or create an interest in such promi- 
nent words,” 


THE LORELEY. 


333 


"'0, how sweet of you ! I see our thoughts are run- 
ning towards the same channel. Would that I could 
realize your meaning ! 

After a moment^s silence she began again. 

This poem is the dialogue of two hearts. The 
second verse is a woman^s utterance; — 

“ Chocolate-drop of my heart ! 

I dare not breath thy name ; 

Like a brandy-drop I wait apart 
In a hot but secret flame. 

Whenever you look down on me — 

Adown my throbbing breast, — 

I feel as if something had stuck in me, 

And I can no longer rest.” 

'‘Some teachers of mnemonics/^ said Paul, desperately 
shooting off into space, “employ a scheme of geometrical 
figures, as squares or circles, to aid the mind so to make 
its acquisitions as to secure them against loss, and to bring 
them to hand readily when required. Such devices were 
not unknown to the ancients. They all assume that what 
one wants to remember can be arbitrarily associated and 
connected with a series of objects existing in artificial 
arrangement, >vhich in turn will suggest the things to be 
remembered. This artifice would substitute for the natural 
and necessary relations under which all objects present 
and arrange themselves, a new set of mechanical and arbi- 
trary relations, which excite little or no other interest than 
as peculiar aids to memory.” 

The speaker did not dare to stop here. The considera- 
tion had occurred to him, of course, sometime before this 
point in their conversation, that he had better sound a 


334 


THE MADOJfNA OF PASS CHIilSTlAN. 


retreat to the hotel. But immediately a perhaps sober, 
second thought deterred him from this experiment for 
two reasons; first, he did not know what she might not do 
if he suggested going home — something terrible, surely ; 
second, the dire possibility, nay probability, had occurred 
to him, that if he were met coming from the long wharf of 
the Conservatory,” with Mrs. Ribold, there would be 
secret titters, nods, winks and knowing smiles ; from this 
pier there was no escape except by a pass more narrow 
than Thermopylae, but if he remained here till a suffi- 
ciently late hour, when others had retired, he might run 
the gauntlet safely. So, like Wellington at Waterloo, 
wishing for either Blucher or night, Mrs. Ribold^s attend- 
ant wished, not that night would come,” but that 
enough more of it would go, to set him free. He began 
then, to talk against time, hoping that if he endured unto 
the end he would be saved : — 

‘Mt follows, that if the mind tasks itself with consider- 
ing objects under these artificial relations, it will attend 
less to those whose interest is direct and legitimate. 
Instead of easily obeying nature’s leadings, the mental 
energies will be forced to constrained and artificial efforts. 
Such intellectual gymnastics gain dexterity at the expense 
of that rhythmical power which always rewards activities 
where art follows nature. The wonderful feats of memory 
occasionally adduced as resulting from the latest new 
device in mnemonics, are the fruit of much time, labor and 
enthusiasm. Had the same zealous work been spent in 
getting knowledge by ordinary appliances, the acquisitions 
would have been many times more valuable for culture.” 


THE LORELEY. 


335 


He stopped. Had he parried her stroke? 

“ I see/^ she said; ^‘instead of ‘ scheming with geomet- 
rical circles and ellipses^ you would remember the real 
thing. How would ‘Nature lead ^ you in ^ arranging the 
objects which present themselves ^ in the following: 

“ I passed your garden, and there. 

On the clothes-line, blew a few 
Girls’ pantaloons; a lively pair 
Reminded me, love, of you; 

And I thought, as I leaned on the fence, 

In the cold and the wind all alone, 

How soon the sweetness of hoarhound dies. 

But the bitter keeps on and on.” 

Before another scientific dissertation could begin. Mrs. 
Ribold, upon ending this final verse, immediately ex- 
claimed : 

‘•'0 dear! A woman's dress is such a bother. My 
shoe-string has come untied. You don't want me to 
stumble walking back on this long pier, do you ? Kneel 
down and tie it for me, — that's a good man." And at this 
a light shone out of her eyes; a gleam bright enough to 
kindle passion in any breast. 

The good man knelt. The shadowy darkness under 
the roof was deeper than the night which Wellington 
hoped for at Waterloo, and it caused the searcher provok- 
ing delay in finding what lay concealed beneath Mrs. 
Ribold's drapery. While apparently occupied, light foot- 
steps approached from behind, and before either were con- 
scious of others, two ladies were upon them. Mrs. Ribold 
saw them first. 

‘‘Get up a moment," she whispered. 


336 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


He arose and there, behold ! — Greta Lind and her 
mother. 

How cruelly appearances iiad combined to overwhelm 
him with suspicion ! 

Greta recognized them. 

see we intrude,”, she said, with cutting irony. 

Mother, let us go. Don't you see?” 

Don't, I beg of you,” exclaimed the savant; ^^Mrs. 
Ribold and I were discussing the laws of memory, and 
were about to go in. Hark ! ” 

A sound of paddling, from a coming boat, and a medley 
of voices. 

“What singing is that on the water?” he continued, 
with the hurry of a slight embarrassment. “ How oddly 
beautiful ! ” 

Indeed, it was odd. Beauty appears in strange types 
now and then, but this was the most peculiar of any before 
which the admirers of “7b Kalon^^ had ever fallen down 
and worshiped. Perhaps Warren at first thought such un- 
usual wierdness could have proceeded only from a chorus 
of Wagner's. But the quartette consisted of Meeks and 
Mrs. Rakeless, a drunken naval officer and Mrs. Tweaser — 
homeward bound from a distant island off the coast. 
Ostensibly “a musical party,” at their start only the 
drunken-naval-officer was in that condition so normal with 
him. But champagne had borne them company, and at 
the finish all were as musical as the sailors of the Flying 
Dutchman, or as the dragon who sings in Siegfried. 
Greta and her mo-ther, from a vantage point on shore, had 


THE LORELEY. 


337 


distinguished Meeks from afar^ above the rest, and came 
to witness the arrival of the gentleman who was popularly 
expected to marry one of them and make himself the son 
of the other. 

It was hardly dulcet strains which thus broke m upon 
the silence of the night. As the Flying Dutcbman neared 
the landing, a chaos of song came through the darkness 
that was on the face of the deep, and it was, like chaos, 
without form and void. A strange bacchanalian rhythm 
was gradually evolved; a loud, mournful howl, blended 
into a dismal wail, was succeeded by agonizing lamenta- 
tions, and ended with all that the ear considers distractedly 
hideous. Above all ascended on high the clarion voice 
of Meeks, as wild and fitful as the leviathan of Siegfried. 

On its way to the wharf, the boat grounded on a sand- 
bar. But this did not in the least interrupt the happiness 
of those seraph choristers. It was only a further oppor- 
tunity for gladsome song, and they joined in a nautical 
ballad taught them — apt scholars as they were — by the 
drunken-naval-officer. They lifted up their hoarse marine 
voices in one of the strange, wild legends of the sea. It 
was a weird and eerie lay of a mysterious cabin-boy : — 

^‘^Tis of a handsome female, they sang, ^^as you will 
understand, who had a mind for roving into some foreign 
land ; attired in a sailoFs garb this lad she did appear, and 
bargained with the captain to serve with him a year. 
Engaged with the captain his cabin-boy to be, and, the 
winds being favorable, they soon put out to sea. The 
captain^s lady, being on board, seemed much to enjoy the 
fav-or-a-ble appearance of the handsome cabin-boy.” 


338 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHHISTIAN. 


The leader of the choir was Meeks. Though accom- 
panied by an elevation of babel from his noisy cohorts, only 
his words could be distinguished. But the lawyer^s shouts 
came and went in gusts, like the equinoctial gale, and 
occasionally the thread of his narrative was lost, — so to 
speak. « 

'^His cheeks were like the roses, shouted the barrister, 
as if he were defending a man for murder about whose 
guilt there was no possible doubt, and before a jury all 
stone-deaf, '‘his side-locks they did curl; the sailors often 
laughed and swore he looked just like a girl. The captain 
and his cabin-boy would often toss and toy, and he soon — ” 
Here Meek^s voice, continually on the rise, made a wild 
crescendo, and then his wind-pipe suddenly burst. At 
least so it was supposed on the wharf. There was an omi- 
nous silence. Was he dead ? No — 

" He was so very nimble, trumpeted the resurrected 
attorney-at-law, more like a steam calliope than ever, 
"and did his duty well ; but mark what followed after, — 
the thing itself will tell : — here Simon gasped for breath 
again — much to the disappointment of Mrs. Ribold. 

"As through the Bay of Biscay our gallant bark did 
plough, one night, among the sailors there rose a fearful 
row;’^ but the row among the sailors grounded on that shoal 
before the Conservatory was far more fearful than the direst 
that ever took place among any insurgent voyagers to 
Botany Bay — when the star regained his pristine vigor. 
" They sprang from out their hammocks, for their sleep 
it did destroy, aroused, as they swore, by the groaning 


THE LORELEY. 


339 


cabin-boy. ^ 0, doctor, doctor, doctor ! ^ this cabin-boy 
did cry ; ^come quickly to my hammock, or, I shall surely 
die.^ The doctor ran with all his might a-laughing at the 
fun, to think a cabin-boy should — and then, there being 
no knowing when, where, or how to expect an astute coun- 
sel, Meeks^ voice again collapsed and he appeared to have 
closed his argument. 

There were confused vestiges of howls from the rest, — 
about how ‘‘ the sailors one and all, 0, solemnly did swear, 
and how “ the captain’s lady talked to him,^^ and then the 
surpassing vocalist made an unlooked-for appearance once 
more at the very summit of the confusion and excelled all 
by his grand finale : 

So they took a bumper all around and drank success 
to trade, also, to our cabin-boy, who was neither man nor 

there was a dirge-like diminuendo here, and if the 

wind and waves our gallant ship destroy, wee’ll ship another 
crew just like our handsome cabin-boy; hooray, too-ral- 
looral-loo — 

At the juncture, the gallant bark of the quartette choir 
did plough off from the shoal, through the waves and up 
to the wharf, where it crashed alongside much after the 
mode in which belated citizens on the night of election- 
day will sometimes violently encounter lamp-posts. Then 
up came that elect and gallant crew, by the gangway lad- 
der, to the Conservatory where the audience sat, — and 
Simon A. Meeks was ahead. 

^"Good evening, ladiesh and gentlemen of the — hie — 
jury!” said the solicitor, staring at the as yet undistin- 


340 


THE MADOXNA OF PASS CHRISTIAJT. 


guished spectators on the benches with a loose eye and an 
imgoverned smile. For a moment he stood, with perfect 
self-possession, swaying himself to and fro, and managing 
his head as if it had no connection whatever with his 
body. Then assuming a favorite attitude, which he con- 
sidered to be like Daniel Webster, placing the left hand 
within his breast and pumping his right arm vehemently 
up and down, — he burst into impassioned eloquence : — 

If thish court please, and — hie — generalmen and 
ladiesh of the jury,” said he, — imperfectly articulating and 
with an attempt at a judicial solemnity, which resulted in 
slow, thick and labored speech, — ^Hhe case before yuh 
which I have the honor — hie — to honorably represhent — 
and — hie — of which-I-am-the-honorable-represhentative, 
is worthy of your mosh profound medication. Yesh ! 
Meditit — tation. Thish woman,” pointing at Mrs. Lind 
and irregularly wobbling his undulating body by fits and 
starts, thish woman is — hie — standsh charged with drunk- 
ennessh and big — bigamy.” 

Warren sprang to his feet to lead the ruffian off. Mrs. 
Lind drew him back with a gesture to remain quiet. Then 
the speakers dim languid eyes glared at another of the 
figures. 

Witness, take the — hie — shtand ! ” 

But the witness took no stand, and, as the advocate 
fixedly watched her, certain double images unsteadily 
reduced to one. 

Why ! law blesh me — hie — Maggie — hie — Maggie- 
hareeta ! Thish you ? Why didn^ yuh tell me so ? Miss 


THE LORELEY. ’ 


341 


Ri — Ricklessh, — le’ me pre — pre — hie— le’ me preson" yuh 
to my promised bride, my— hic— Maggie-hareeta ! How 
do ? Le^ me embrace you, darling ! ” 

At this announcement of her engagement, tne prom- 
ised bride, Maggie-hareeta, jumped from her seat, and 
was gone — a flash of white speeding up the long narrow 
wharf towards the hotel. Her mother followed. She had 
restrained Warren, hoping that if Mr. Meeks were only 
given enough rope, his engagement to her daughter would 
perish‘ on his own gallows. She did not know that that 
bovine biped had already hung himself. 

Mrs. Ribold and Warren watched the boating party, as 
they followed on their maudlin way. Afterthe excursion- 
ists two others finally clambered out of the yacht 
which had been used, — Luis, the Mexican, who hired and 
sailed it, and a roughly-clad assistant. So the latter, in 
coarse sailor costume, appeared ; but as Mrs. RiboTd looked 
at him twice, struck by a certain singularity in his gait 
which reminded her of something seen before, she dis- 
covered that although the habit was that of a seaman, the 
shape within was that of the Baptist minister. 

As Warren finally retired that night, he drilled his 
memory over the following : — 

“ The air grows cool and it darkens, 

And tranquilly flows the Rhine ; 

And kissed by the glow of the sunset 
The peaks of the mountains shine. 

High o’er the gliding river, 

A maiden, wondrous fair. 

Sits in the golden twilight. 

And combs her golden hair. 


342 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


With a golden comb she combs it, 

And sings a song the while 

With a wild and witching melody, 

The listener to beguile. 

It reaches the ear of the boatman 
On the river’s breast below. 

And quickens his breast to a passion. 

Of love and longing and woe. 

Erect in his fragile vessel 

lie stands spell-bound by his might — 

He sees not the rocks and the rapids, 

He gazes alone on the height. 

Engulfed by the angry billows. 

The boatman sinks anon ; 

And this with her siren singii 
The Loreley hath done.” 

Wherefore the Conservatory Wharf at Pass Christian is 
called The Place of the Loreley/^ even until this day. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


LILIES. 

Maiden! with the sweet gray eyes, 

In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk of evening skies. 

Thou, whose locks outshine the sun, 

Golden tresses, wreathed in one 
As the braided streamlets run! 

Bear a lily in thy hand 

Gates of brass can not withstand 

One touch of that magic wand.” 

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. 

‘^This is an object-lesson, my dear friends, by the 
Maker of the object. The teacher describes his own inven- 
tion. Learn from your companion-phenomenon how to 
unfold your lives, like the flower, without solicitude and 
concern. Enjoy the daiptiness of the leaves and the grace 
of the petals if you will, but mark Miow they grow,’ weav- 
. ing foliage without spinning and the finest of elegant 
textures without toiling, and coming from God's loom 
arranged in more than Solomon's glory. So must you pro- 
gress, you who are weary, careworn and heavy laden. 

No one by taking thought can add a cubit to his 
stature; a child grows, when surrounded by the proper con- 
ditions, without trying; and your souls can not be forced 
nearer the stature of the Lord Jesus by restlessness. The 


344 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


true flower soul springs up from what God has sown with- 
in, like a lily from its bulb. The human artificial imita- 
tion is like wax-work — far different from the growing 
model. The living flower of Christianity augments vitally 
from within, while the dead crystal of worldliness can only 
add new particles from without, and remains, though very 
beautiful, lifeless,” 

It was late afternoon and the clergyman in the little 
Episcopal church was preaching the sermon of the even- 
ing service. On the following week many Northern visit- 
ors would depart, some never to return, and these filled 
the Lord^s house. The gentle, tender ringing of bells had 
announced the arrival of the last Sabbath in their lives at 
Pass Christian, and they had devoted it to holy contempla- 
tion; under the grand old lichen- covered and moss-hung 
oaks which overshadowed the place consecrated to the wor- 
ship of God, they seemed to feel more like worshiping than 
elsewhere. Imperial pines, whose shapely trunks were 
taller than the masts of an admiral, waved their branches 
around the church, shooting their upper boughs into a 
blue vault where the snowy smoke of clouds wreathed 
about them a golden-white aureole. Near this little tem- 
ple in the woods lay a deep and clear pond, quiet as the 
pool of Bethsaida. Along its borders white lilies grew, 
and pale, drowned lilies were reflected from the glassy 
depths below. Within the church a lily, pale and beauti- 
ful as they, listened, and thought, as the pastor spoke. 

Molded into beauty by invisible fingers, the flower 
unfolds, we know not why, lifting up against earth^s 


LILIES. 


345 


gravity its weight of stem and leaf; shaping into the 
image of Christ, the soul develops witli equal mystery, 
lifting up against sin^s gravity its weight of heavenly fruit. 
You cannot tell whence its life cometh or whither it goeth. 
A strong will and philosophy can remarkably imitate the 
Christian spirit, but their fruits are waxen, their flowers 
artiflcial. The worldly man borrows hisstandard from the 
social pride of life. As good as others, doing what soci- 
ety considers proper and becoming, he reflects established 
opinions and follows them. What the world believes hon- 
orable, worth having, advantageous and good, he chooses. 
His motives come from a visible source, and the things that 
are in the world shape his leaf and flower. Neither is true 
growth that contagion from impulsive enthusiastic crowds 
which infects the religious zealot. The soul should have 
the rural quiet of a beautiful garden; clamor and howling 
do not belong in the silent closet, nor in the silent vales 
where lilies spread out leaves in noiseless prayer for gra- 
cious sunshine and cooling dew. Consider how the lily 
echoes and repeats those words so dear to hearts, ^ Come 
unto me and I will give you rest.^^^ 

Then why pause with indecision 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian? 

Margareta? 

She is seated there, among the worshipers, with War- 
ren; the latter leaves Pass Christian, summoned North by 
a telegram announcing the serious illness of* his father. 
The impending loss of the friend who has led her to the 
light has made her pensive. 


346 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Consider the lilies of the field/^ continued the 
preacher; ‘'all through the long winter they are dead, 
— bulbs, unsightly corpses, buried in the earth. But 
when spring and sunshine at last trump their life and 
light over the lilies’ graves, they rise again. Sown in cor- 
ruption, they are raised in glory. Delicate, beautiful in 
color, flying to us in ethereal fragrance, these pure emblems 
of immortality are God’s sweet messengers to us to tell us 
of our hereafter. 

*• When the earth revives from her winter death, when ' 
the swallows return, and the flowers blossom, every germ 
which is buried in the ground, and ascends with a new 
frame, preaches our Resurrection. They are summoned 
by the Giver of life, their Maker, who died and rose again; 
they testify of that day when death shall be no more, when 
the creation which now groanethand travaileth, shall have 
brought forth the new heavens and the new earth, when 
there shall be no sighing nor sorrow, — God having dried 
all tears. 

“The day dies and is buried in darkness, but it comes 
into being again on the morrow, from its grave of silence 
and the dead of night. So dies the summer into winter. 
Sap descends into roots and remains buried in the ground; 
the earth, covered with snow, is white as a marble tomb. 
But in a little while the sepulchre’s white stone is rolled 
away, plants and flowers spring from their graves, re-ani- 
mated; token of the rising again of man — the lord of all 
these things which thus die and revive for him. 

“The beautiful earth, with its sweet-breathed flowers. 


LILIES. 


347 


the perfumed, roseate air around us, the blue sphere in 
which this globe rolls on, will pass away; the ties that bind 
must break under the weight of the accumulating years; 
some day the hands clasped in fondest love must part. 
Remember then how, when the sun goes down, the evening 
star appears, and afterwards heavenly hosts; their flight 
is towards the end of the starry universe, like ours towards 
the eternity beyond. Death is only a flight. Just as hid- 
den creations are concealed behind the sunbeams, so the 
light of our present life blinds and deceives us. But ahead 
of us, on our onward celestial course into the arch of 
heaven, are the Spirit and the Bride, waiting, saying, 
‘Come.^^^ 

The sunset is coming on, ana as the yellow light streams 
in through the stained windows which mingle with it 
their murky red, the tones of the organ resound through 
the church, and the choir sing, 

V O Jesu, thou art standing 

Outside the fast-closed, door, 

In lowly patience waiting 
To pass the threshold o’er." 

More than one who listened to that divine music soared 
up on the wings of song from every-day thought to a 
loftier atmosphere and holier reflection. 

“ O Jesu, thou art knocking: 

And lol that hand is scarr’d. 

And thorns thy brow encircle. 

And tears thy face have marr’d." 

Sublime voices are calling, Greta! Are they answered 
from the hidden depths of thy heart? 


348 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Fancies and memories thronged round her as the music 
rolled through the shadows, — grave and reproachful shad- 
ows of spent years, flitting past her in solemn procession, 
that terminated only with the fading images of earliest 
childhood. The several disclosures concerning Meeks — 
his own and others — made the time wasted for him seem 
an arid, stifling hot desert. Her old idol was fallen. Her 
future had somehow twined itself about Warren. Yet he 
must leave her to-day, — perhaps forever. Did he care for 
her at all? — she wondered. He had not said so. And 
when he returned to the busy East, among the fair Puritan 
belles, what chance was there that she should ever see him 
again? Skepticism lingered yet and drove out peace and 
trusting faith. In a cold way she liked the oration just 
delivered, but music was her language. More vivid than 
words it spoke not merely to her intelligence but right to 
the inmost center of her soul, — as if it were the discourse 
of angels or of Him who alone knows the mystery of why 
it sounds so sweet. The harmony seemed to vibrate the 
sounding-board of the harp of her life and being. Her 
harp-strings awakened to a light answ’ering thrill; the sur- 
roundings of altar, nave and transept grew dim in her 
moist eyes; and her heart w^as vaguely troubled. 

But she told Warren that it was nothing, nothing,” 
and they went out into the glad open air. An hour would 
elapse before the train went; Warren had made all prepa- 
rations for going; his trunks were sent to the depot and 
checked, and he had given up his room. The two were 
thus at liberty to spend the remaining time together in 
one last stroll. 


LILIES. 


349 


They went around the church to the old graveyard in 
its rear. Ancient monuments were there, as neglected as 
the brambles that ^rew in remote corners. Weather- 
stained marbles told them of half-forgotten graves, and 
tall living grasses and groups of higher ferns marked 
what no headstone did, the last sleep of those who were 
remembered only by ferns and grasses. 

^^Did those forgotten ones,^^ asked Greta, ^^once 
wander here, do you suppose, longing for life, and with a 
shudder thinking of when their inner light should be 
blown out like a candle, and the charred wick, the ashes, 
should be put in the cold ground with all its kfe and 
brightness gone?” 

‘^We all long never to die,” said Warren; '‘it seems 
that the Master of the Universe puts that wish in all 
human hearts. Its tendency is to lead His creatures to 
make themselves better, to fit themselves for entrance 
upon an eternal hereafter, and so improve even His earthly 
creation.” 

"Could he, for that last reason, have inspired a hope 
which was false?” asked the skeptical girl. 

"I do not believe,” replied Warren, "that the leader 
of the Christians uttered pleasant deceptions by the grave 
of his friend Lazarus. A tortured wretch was crucified 
with Him, who yet trusted in Him. Could He have 
returned that dying confidence with a lie by saying, 
'To-day thou shalt be with me in Paradise?^ Could He 
die with a falsehood on His lips?” 

The scarlet tanagers and the wood lapwings sang for 


350 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

Warren and Greta in a sweet confiding way above the 
graves. A warbling vireo, in the branches above their 
heads whispered a low, tender strain, so liquid and soft 
that Greta thought she had never heard the like. Cawing 
crows flapped their black wings over the green fields toward 
the blue waving forest, and sank into the gray hazy dis- 
tance. Silvery carols of thousands of unknown birds 
twittered far and near, and re-echoed through the shaded 
groves, each seeming to vie with the others in efforts to 
scatter all gathering gloom. The singers were accom- 
panied by an orchestra of murmuring pine trees; the 
tremulous violins of Nature quivered, and the music of the 
lips gone noW so long into the dust, seemed now to ascend 
again from under the waving grass towards the church 
which remembered them no longer. 

And here it was that Warren told Greta how he was 
once betrothed to one called Alice, who was now sleeping, 
like these, until the last trump should blow over Mount 
Auburn; of his first coming to Pass Christian and the 
phenomenon of his vision during his slumber in the 
Catholic Church; how either accident or design had led 
him to see the beauty at the Carnival Ball who was so very 
like the apparition of his dream; and of his walk along 
St. Charles street after the Ball; and the mysterious singer. 

‘'That was exclaimed Greta, “and, do you know, 
I was thinking of you! ” 

“Well, how de do. Miss Lind? Well, if this ain’t 
remahk-’ble! Glad to see yo’ all. An’ Mr. Meeks — is it — 
how de do? I come up hyar from Nu Warleens to show 


LILIES. 


351 


Mr. and Mrs. Turtle ole Gnv^ier Kemper^s place. After 
which we all are gwine to make a tower. A tower of the 
South. Why bless me, . . . .Taint Mr. Meeks, is it?” As 
these words began to be spoken, a huge amorphous form 
crashed precipitously through some bushes near Warren 
and Greta, revealing at length the ponderous Mrs. Gunn. 

No ma’am,” said Greta, with wrath and vexation 
tingling in her voice, this is my friend, Mr. Warren. 
Doubtless if you hadn’t been so near-sighted you wouldn’t 
have plunged upon us just now, nor interrupted us as you 
did.” 

Mrs. Gunn was, however, as invulnerable as Achilles. 
Nothing short of another gun could have checked her on 
any career upon which she was bent. She goodhumoredly 
explained, at very great length, that she was on a trip” 
with the Turtles. They ' were going to Mobile, Ala., 
Montgomery and Birmingham, had stopped off at Pass 
Christian and were staying, not at the Hotel, but on some 
country plantation near the village. Being at church and 
seeing Greta as she supposed with Meeks, she had tried to 
meet them and at last found them, as she superfluously 
explained, in the Protestant cemetery. 

Will you never end?” thought Greta, dismally, as this 
harangue went on. 

Perhaps she never would,— although, as they say, 
eternity is a long word. But at last Warren looked at his 
watch and said that he really must go to catch the train,— 
really. 

Goodbye, Mrs. Gunn,” said Greta, walking off and 


352 THE MADONKA OF PASS CIIRISTIAH. 

turniog her head round to that lady with a mock bow; 
‘^good-bye, don^t walk too fast and hurt yourself. See 
you later, if youh’enot taken with apoplexy; keep quiet.^^ 
They walked back through the pine grove to the 
road and Greta^s fiery flash of impatience and vexation 
was blown out by the sea breeze on arriving upon 
the road along the coast. But the public eye was 
upon them now, and the ears of other strollers 
or way-side residents were always close at hand. 
Hence it came to pass that Warren said nothing moment- 
ous, nor did Greta, in their hasty, rapid walk, expect it; 
but she did look forward with some little happiness and 
hope to another meeting, when present snarls had been 
disentangled. She told him, moreover, that a young 
society woman, whose life, through listlessness, want of 
purpose, and misdirection, was unhappy; who, among 
other self-deceptions, believed herself in love when merely 
idle; without faith in God or the life above, which alone 
brightens life here, had been pointed to a guiding star, 
which she would try to keep in sight always. Whether 
she was as mathematically sure of it as of those stars from 
which navigators ascertain their course at sea, still she 
realized, at least, that hopes of happiness from elsewhere 
were delusions; false, like a will-o’-the-wisp, or like mock- 
ing echoes from a cliff, — calling pleasantly, but summon- 
ing to nothing. She had been shown so kindly, she said, 
and with perfect delicacy, that lier crude, unformed, neg- 
lected mind was like a garden growing up in weeds, and 
she thanked him who had tried to deliver her from immi- 
nent death. 


LILIES. 


353 


Along the coast, on their way from the church to the 
hotel, lazy schooners were floating, like water-fowl, and 
the sky was soft and smiling. Past gardens of roses and 
scented shrubs, cool verandahs, deftly woven lattice-work 
and wisteria and honeysuckle vines, the virgin’s bower, 
sweet brier, and white, scarlet and yellow jasmine, climb- 
ing high above mellow brown walls; past tiny, lonesome, 
neglected cottages; by great, forsaken and litigated man- 
sions, — they hastened and chatted. And when the red 
fires of evening lighted the oaks near by, and hung upon 
them like a crimson fringe; when the breeze was creeping 
through the deep north woods; while the birds were soar- 
ing and singing high up in the orange sky; while all the 
royal pomp of some old Tyrian king attended the dying 
day, — Warren bade her good-bye. 

We shall meet again,” he said, I hope, sometime?” 
hope we* shall meet again,” she responded; ‘^but,” 
she added, with a gay laugh, listen to the mocking- 
bird.” 

In parts of the South the colored people style the orange 
the mock-bird tree,” a certain little feathered witch 
being most at home when encompassed with its bridal fra- 
grance. From among the creamy blossoms of an orange 
near, the sweet mocking and gently modulated trills of 
one of these voudou birds,” — as ex-slaves believe them — 
broke upon Greta and Warren as they exchanged their 
hopes.” The song was delivered with apparent caution, 
as if from a very knowing listener, and with all attention 
and softness. Each cadence passed on^ without faltering, 


354 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHKISTIAN. 


and when the two had separated for the last time, as Greta 
walked up the front steps of the hotel, still the laughing- 
bii’d all the while was singing. Greta caught a glimpse of 
the Sound, which made her pause on the hotel verandah 
just an instant before entering. Another sea of glass, 
mingled with fire, extended towards a horizon which blazed 
with a glory that could have come only from those fiery 
tropics whither those waves seemed roaming. Rosy and 
purple streaks interspersed the golden water — for the liquid 
glass imaged the yellow glow of a superb sunset, and in the 
slight, perpetual heaving of its surface, rosy, purple and 
gold waves were curling and twisting like red and yellow 
flames. 

The sweet *^Aiif WiederseUn” came from the piano in 
the parlor behind her, sung, Greta knew, by a New Orleans 
bride. How happy she must be!^^ thought Greta; for 
her own happiness, earthly, seemed always ’to fade with the 
day. The soft fancies of sunset held her in thrall; the 
orange flowers of the mock-thorn timidly sighing, the 
wind^s suppressed sobbing among the oaks, the whisper of 
poplars, the low, melodious whistling of a flock of little 
birds darting amidst the green depths of twilight foliage, 
the break and rippling of the sound flowing away after the 
departing day, were all pathetic voices echoing ‘^good-bye, 
good-bye. As she turned about to enter the hotel, she 
glanced reluctantly upward at the heavens beyond the 
beautiful gulf— symbol, perhaps, of the alluring abyss of the 
fair world which passeth away with the lust thereof, the 
eddying gulf which Greta still loved, which still whirled 


LILIES. 


355 


between her and the tranquillity of those stars; between 
her and the rest for troubled hearts which is in the infin- 
itude beyond their mortal brightness; which shall be when 
the first heaven has passed away, and when there is no 
more sea. 

Good-bye, Margareta! Day is going fast, and lie bows 
himself out with calm Southern languor, attended by a 
flourish of bird music and pine fragrance. Well for thy 
foreboding heart, loving maiden, that the prolonged mock- 
ing of that warbling prophet of the air is unheard ; for the 
magic slave-bird, strangely persistent and taunting, sings 
to thee a mystery which may mean many a long, long 
weary day and tears at last. 


Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
As the dove, with startled eye. 
Sees the falcon’s shadow fly? ” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


MR. MARTIN" A. SMITH AHD WIFE. 

“ She gives thee a garland woven fair 
Take care ! 

It is a fool’s cap for thee to wear. 

Beware! Beware!” —Longfellow. 

There is a nameless charm about those cities in the 
South which have not altogether exchanged their ante- 
bellum languor for the mill-wheel, factories, coal-dust and 
grime of the violently racing ‘‘ New South.” On a plain, 
shut in by low hills in rear, cooled in front by the smiling 
river and the sparkling bay, and tempered by the Gulf 
stream winds, is the city of Mobile. Its broad quiet 
avenues are shaded with fine and ancient trees, and lined 
with large and airy old-style dwellings set in exquisite 
gardens, terraces and green lawns. The tranquil atmos- 
phere is delicious with the fragrance of roses, magnolias, 
camellias and sweet jessamine. Pale convalescents, or 
Northerners in failing health, here seek the iodine and 
bromine vapors which come in from the Gulf to mingle 
with the fiowers^ perfume. Chill and sharp may be the 
Northern March, but however piercing the winds there, 
the gardens here are always in bloom ahd beautiful with 
semi-tropic greenness. Roughs do not thrive here, and 
the all-prevailing courtesy, conspicuous even in the lower 
classes, reminds one of France. 


MR. MARTIN A. SMITH AND WIFE. 


35 ' 


Into this Southern Eden, just the paradise for a young 
and loving husband and wife, there came 'one morning in 
March of this' memorable year, a certain two. Though 
youthful, they were sober and dispassionate enough to dis- 
cover to the smart hotel clerk — whom none can deceive — 
that the first effect of their nuptials had subsided. 

The gentleman was well-shaped and athletic, six feet 
tall and muscular. In some respects his face w'as hand- 
some» with that fresh ruddy color suggesting love for 
horses, base ball, cigarettes and beer; in others, it had the 
sinister look of an evil animal, and his jutting lower jaw 
did not prepossess one. The yellow beauty of autumn 
forests was in the face of the wife, the grace of their sway- 
ing boughs was in her movements, and yellow October sun- 
light gleamed from eyes half-hidden under their golden 
lashes; but it was rather a resident of some more tropical 
jungle that suggested itself in her soft stealthy walk — one 
of those beings which spring upon you suddenly from 
behind — perhaps, and which are known in India as man- 
eaters. On the whole, however, she was as charming as 
the ocean which holds you for hours watching its surf 
break and roll upon the beach, and which drowns you as 
sweetly afterwards .when attracted to venture on its waters. 

At ten o’clocK in the forenoon this happy pair regis- 
tered at the Battle House as Mr. Martin A. Smith and 
Wife, New York City,” and told the clerk that they would 
stay twenty-four hours. Before they had been shown to 
their room a third guest arrived, who looked at them 
askance. From the loud pattern of his very new clothes, his 


358 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

showy diamond ring, his smart ingratiating air, and from 
his ‘^sample casG,” it was evident to the same cunning 
clerk that the last guest was an individual of that species 
of the human genus which zoologists classify as ‘‘Travel- 
ing Men.” The Baptismal name of the commercial trav- 
eler appeared from his superscription to be “John; his 
surname, “ Brown.” His full name, thus, was John 
Brown,— with whom all readers are acquainted. The only 
arrivals at that hour of the day were the Smiths and Mr. 
Brown. 

The Smiths at once and hastily retired to their room. 
Authors visit whom and where they will, and — like those 
snirits who perform at the seances of Madame Claire 
Voyante for one dollar — can reveal the past, expose all 
secrets, foretell the! future and drop through the ceiling 
without making a hole therein. Welcome is this last gift, 
since it enables author and reader to drop in upon this 
loving couple, even into the sanctity of the bridal chamber, 
and to hold close-communion with them upon the mar- 
riage bed. Upon the latter, where his beautiful bride 
already awaited him, Mr. Smith, after taking off his coat, 
now projected himself. 

His fair comrade, in cloudy attire and radiant, with 
her shining golden hair all dishevelled, was as lustrous as 
a flaming sundown upon some torrid sea, — a blaze of glory 
in the midst of silken white and scarlet clouds rising high 
in a glistening arch of convoluted loveliness, forming one 
of those marvelous visions known to voyagers, and display- 
ing the peerless ethereal fire which kindles the ultimate 


MR. MARTIN A. SMITH AND WIFE. 


359 


beauty of the tropics. But as twilight is of brief dura- 
tion near the equator, so a darkness, as of encroaching 
night, pressed fast upon this sunset, obscuring its splen- 
dor. For it was observable that although she was devoted 
to his pleasure, the bridegroom did not find in her his 
usual source of exquisite delight, and that both were 
becoming grave and pensive. 

^'Isabelle — ” began the knightly associate who iiad 
registered himself as “Martin.” 

Clear and low and sweet as the siren who occasionally 
sings in Schubert's music was the voice of Isabelle, and 
her stupefaction of the invisible hearer might have equaled 
that other unfolding blossom which giddy lotus-eaters 
plucked, when she murmured : 

“ Simon, don't be glum ! '' 

Simon ! 

Was “ Simon” short for “ Martin,” an abbreviation or 
some endearing pet name ? “ Martin” suggests birds and 

pretty little bird-houses up above the tree-tops in the blue 
sky; why not call him that? The odd fancy of the wife 
seemed stranger when Isabelle further addressed her 
alleged lord and master as “ Meeks, Old Goat,-” — a term of 
affection even more extraordinary. Reluctantly the con- 
clusion is reached that “Martin A. Smith” is merely a 
nom de plume for hotel registers, that the bridegroom is 
our honest friend Meeks, of Kansas City, and that the 
wife, “ Isabelle,” is the spouse of Mr. Rakeless, for whom 
she has temporarily mistaken her legal adviser. 

“Now, what in the heated regions of the D. D. is Hie 


360 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


meaning of that?” Simon asked, without attending to the 
exhortation and holding an opened letter above his eyes 
as he lay on the pillow. Then he read from it again 
slowly and with care : 

“ Pass Christian, Miss,, 

March , 18 — . 

Be careful. You are watched. Leave at once. 

A Friend.” 

‘^Now, what does that mean ?” he repeated. 

suppose the interpretation of that 'billet-doux^’^ said 
Isabelle, with a sigh, ^^is that my loving husband, who 
never will leave me alone, has a detective shadowing me. 
If Fm caught, Fll shoot myself with a small revolver.” 

We donT propose to be pulled,” said the lawyer. 

“The Old Guard dies, but never surrenders!” cried 
his heroic and ardent companion. “ On ! as Shakespeare 
says, to the breech once more ! Perhaps weM better 
shoot them instead of ourselves.” 

Meeks had never seen Greta since the night of the 
boating-party, and his eloquent speech to the ladies of the 
jury in the Conservatory. If he had any purpose in life 
before another, it was to secure Margareta Lind for his 
wife. His love for her was, of its kind, sincere, and just 
as lofty as his nature would offer to any shapely girl. 
After their sail, and after the excursionists had housed 
him safely in his room to sleep the sleep of the 
drunken, the waiter had brought him a note marked 
“Important.” For financial reasons, Simon wanted to 
preserve the reputation of being a good church-member, 


MR. MARTIN A. SMITH AND WIFE. 


361 


and had acquired the art of sleeping off the effects of a 
drunken frolic by an effort of will in a very few hours, 
fresh at the end of it for prayer- meeting and a sober 
opinion on the predestination of the elect. That night 
the adroit lawyer locked himself in his room and laid 
down and slept, but with the one word ‘^Important” 
branded on his brain in characters of fire. 

At three o^clock next morning he awoke, sobered. 
After bathing his head, he read the note. It was in a lady’s 
handwriting, disguised. There was no other clue to the 
sender. In the very first moments of returned sobriety he 
recalled, with the greatest misgiving, the landing on the 
wharf. He knew that he had insulted the only woman he 
loved v/hen she was already strangely and suddenly waver- 
ing in her cordiality towards him; he had disgraced him- 
self, probably, and humiliated his fiancee before several 
guests of the hotel, who doubtless would gossip it every- 
where. And now threatened a discovery of his relations 
with Mrs. Eakeless. What else, perhaps ? He did not 
permit himself to whisper. At least the total meant ruin, 
the loss of his Kansas City reputation, the damage of his 
standing in the Christian Endeavor Society, and, above 
all, the loss of Margareta. 

He resolved quickly. Nothing was to be gained by 
remaining at Pass Christian longer. Such a stay would 
be scandalous, after what had occurred. By going at 
once there was a chance, however small, that Greta would 
consider him mortified, sorrowed, and repentant — which 
would tend to pacify her. Moreover the cunning attorney 


362 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


knew the effect of his absence upon her,. how the Ideal 
Simon which replaced the Eeal in her heart when he was 
away could work for him, and he had greater reliance on 
a silent departure than on his presence and. wordy argu- 
ment. Ignorant of the voices which had spoken to Greta 
from the mist-hidden sea one night as she talked with 
Warren, he wrote her this hurried note: — 

“ Margaret A; 

“Forgive me if you can. I can’t. Remember that George 
Washington fell occasionally. Just read that letter of invitation 
■which he wrote to Thomas Jefferson, and, which is hidden away in 
the private archives of the Smithsonian at Washington, and shown 
only to a few. 

“Ever yours, Simon.” 

Then he wrote another to Mrs. Rakeless. Both notes 
he left at the hotel office with orders to get his breakfast 
and call him for the early New Orleans train. Packing 
his trunk, he left in the cool quiet of early morning, before 
the other guests had appeared, while the hotel was solitary, 
and unobserved by any but the negro porters. 

If a detective had been dodging them, he assumed that 
it was one of the town police. Such an officer had lingered 
about the hotel lately. Of all this his note apprised Mrs. 
Rakeless. She wrote him asking a rendezvous at Mobile, 
and on this bright morning, after meeting each other in a 
retired spot, they had gone to the Battle House together, as 
a newly-arrived husband and wife. It was rather dangerous, 
perhaps, to go to so prominent a hotel, but with that 
excessive caution of criminals which so frequently defeats 
itself by overshooting the mark, they had feared suspicion 


MR. MARTIN A. SMITH AND WIFE. 


363 


•and gossip if they went to obscure lodgings — with other 
remotely contingent dangers — and hastily resolved that 
bold dishonesty was the best policy. 

Two heads are better than one^ — sometimes, although 
a certain Carthaginian general did say that one bad general 
v/as better than two good ones. After Simon and Isabelle, 
or — to speak with more respect— after Mr. Meeks and the 
wife of Mr. Rakeless had lain as they were for some time 
in agitated discussion, they came to this conclusion: — 

‘‘Yes, that Baptist minister was a detective, said 
Mrs. Rakeless; “if we hadnT been so infatuated at the 
Pass, we might have known that meeting him in all sorts 
and conditions of ways and places wasriT chance. Very 
likely he disguised himself in that grotesque fashion to 
make others think him a harmless lunatic and so excuse 
or disregard the peculiar movements necessary for a detec- 
tive.^’ 

As Mrs. Rakeless had left Pass Christian less suddenly 
and secretly than Meeks, it occurred to their startled 
fancy that she might have been traced here. 

With an oath, Meeks arose, put on his coat, said a few 
words to the partner of his sorrow, and went down stairs 
to the hotel office. No one was there except the clerk. 
He observed upon the register, — “John Brown.” He 
looked into the reading-room, but the brilliantly-clothed 
man did not shine out fro?n among those who filled the 
writing-table. He dared not question the clerk, lest the 
latter might suspect IMr. Smith atid talk to Mr. Brown. 
The billiard-room and bar-room lacked the smart sales- 


364 


THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAX. 


man. He was about to give up the search and return to, 
Mrs. Kakeless, when, through the crack of the partly- 
opened door of the ladies^ parlor, he saw two eyes glisten. 
With seeming carelessness he sauntered into the darkened 
room. Behind the door, all alone, sat the man whom he 
sought, but with his face hidden by a carefully-raised 
newspaper upon which he was very intent. Meeks 
advanced to the window and looked out. The man did 
not move. Then Meeks opened his watch, abruptly whis- 
tled as with annoyance, and exclaimed: — 

My watch has stopped. Ah! would you, sir, please 
tell me the hour? 

The frustrated reader lowered his paper, looked at his 
watch and replied. Meeks thanked him with a drawl 
and walked indolently away. But when out of sight of 
those sparkling eyes in the Ladies^ Parlor, he moved more 
quickly, and the rapidity of his flight up stairs increased 
with each step in geometrical progression. 

‘‘IPs him!^^ he hissed, on returning to the bridal bou- 
doir, “ we^re in for it! 

“May old Beelzebub help us!^^ she piously ejaculated; 
“ D'you think you can butt down the wall thaPs about us 
now. Goat? If not, how can we jump over it? ThaPs the 
question before this house.” 

If that night they remained together in their room, it 
was almost certain that at a sufficiently late hour they 
would be arrested, — since their act under Alabama laws 
was a crime. The arrest under such circumstances would 
complete the evidence against them, and Mr. Rakeless 


MK. MARTIN A. SAflTH AND WIFE. 


365 


would obtain a divorce. Such prompt ruin was therefore 
no voluntary alternative. Thinking that staying in their 
room even during the day-time would cause an increase of 
hostile evidence, they went out as for a walk. 

They moved uneasily along Government street, with a 
disturbed anxious manner little in keeping with the calm 
live oaks and tranquil magnolias that shaded the already 
shady couple. Presently they came to a little park where 
feathery China trees, Japan plum and mammoth-leaved 
bananas, surrounded a secluded bench, and here they sat 
down to consider what course they should take. 

^MVhat shall we do to be saved?” asked Meeks, with 
an attempt at jocularity. 

“ Through the wood as I was roaming, 

There a gentle youth I spied, 

Piping sweetly in the gloaming, 

Till the rocks around replied 
So la la 1 " 

replied Mrs. Rakeless with real jocoseness; and when- 
ever that lady jested most hilariously Meeks always began 
to shake with apprehension. At present he caught a 
glimpse of the traveling man as she indicated a distant 
part of the square. 

The devil cares for his own, sometimes, and this close, 
careful, persistent watching suggested that this very unre- 
mittingness might be made a means of putting the man- 
of-one-idea off the track. Just how, they did not yet see; 
but rosy hope urged that it was possible in general. Some 
sly device seemed to be the only means of preserving the 
esteem in which these amiable characters were held by the 
community at their respective homes. 


^66 Me madOnKa oe pass cukisiiaK. 

If they separated and went North would not a divorce 
suit be brought against Mrs. Rakeless when she came 
within the jurisdiction of her domestic court? Was it not 
probable that the detective already had enough evidence to 
convict? 

Fortunately for Meeks his professional experience 
included many a divorce case, and his knowledge served 
him in good stead now. A detective's testimony, he said, 
was of little value when uncorroborated. So many were 
hired to swear falsely, that courts strictly enforced that 
rule. Therefore it became important to know what facts 
had been elicited by the agent of Mr. Rakeless. 

After some deliberation on the bench, under the Japan 
plums, they hit upon a plan. Returning to the hotel, 
they entered the dining-hall for the midday meal. As 
they had expected, it was not long before Mr. Brown fol- 
lowed them, and took his seat at a neighboring table. 
Of his coming the Smiths" appeared quite unconscious. 

After a very few minutes Meeks arose and went out, 
leaving Mrs. Rakeless still at the dining-table. 

^‘Let me have the key of 82, please," said he, in a mat- 
ter-of-course tone, to the clerk at the hotel office. 

Now ^'82 "was the detective's room; had the clerk said 
so, Meeks was prepared to say: 

My mistake. That was the number of my room at 
the hotel which I just left, at New Orleans, and I had that 
in mind." 

If Brown had the key with him, making the clerk 
reply, Your key is not here.'’ Meeks would have said: 

Then my wife has it." 


Mli. MARTm A. AND WIFE. ^6^ 

It was remotely possible that the clerk, confused by the 
many transient guests arriving at that hour and going to 
dinner, would give the desired key. Meeks took the 
chance and won. With his prize he ran up the stairway. 
A chance not so remote was that Brown would immedi- 
ately follow him. But again the devil protected his own, 
and the fascinating golden image of a wife in the dining- 
hall held the observation of the traveling man fast. Still 
another chance was against success; the object of this foray 
was Brown’s memoranda, which, at this moment, might be 
in his pocket. But the day was sultry and Brown had 
changed the coat which, stifling an involuntary cry of 
exultation, Meeks found lying on the man’s bed; the pre- 
cious note-book was in its pocket! His eye ran hurriedly 
but keenly over its pages, and as he rapidly turned them 
they did not agitate. But at length he came to an entry 
which made him look wildly around as if for aid from some 
invisible power of the air; a pallor blanched his face and 
his jaw fell. Then, setting his teeth, he swiftly and 
grimly scrutinized the remaining leaves. As lie did this, 
from outside in the corridor, the noise of rattling tin 
buckets and slamming doors warned him that chamber 
maids were at work and approaching. If they discovered 
him — even coming out of the room, they would report it to 
the detective and precipitate the catastrophe, or there 
was no knowing what might happen. He rushed to the 
window, — a sheer fall of forty feet. But the stout limb of 
an elm tree reached up over the roof and within arm’s 
length of the open window. When Meeks was a boy his 


aes 


THFi if A DO XK A OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


father had placed him on a naval training-ship, and he had 
learned to climb like a cat. He swung himself out of the 
window upon the limb, crawled along till over the hotel 
roof, crept on hands and knees till he found an open sky- 
light, and clambered down through that into a garret, and 
thence into the hall below. 

^‘Hello, Mollie!” he said to the chambermaid who met 
him as he descended the garret ladder, in a tone intended 
to be highly jovial; ^^ah! there. Fve just been turning the 
roof of your hotel into an observatory. Fine view of 
Mobile up there.” 

But the speechless girl stared open-mouthed, as intently 
as if she saw a revivified corpse corning down from some 
hitherfco-unknown tomb on top of the Battle House. And 
if Mr. Meeks had seen the ashy pale face which could have 
looked at him from a mirror he would have thought so too. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 


THE BKIDAL TOUR OF MR. AND MRS. SMITH. 

‘ ‘ A voice in Hades soundeth clear, 

The shadows mourn and flit below; 

The coal-black horses rise — they rise.” 

We lay very comfortably between the devil and the 
deep sea/' said Meeks, with forced calmness, as he rejoined 
Mrs. Rakeless in the dining-hall. 

Well, there's a combination of both over there, — big 
as the deep sea and as funny and ugly as the — the patron 
saint which you have just mentioned. She came in while 
you were gone. Cheer up, goat, and laugh." 

But it was a wry laugh which the goat gave, when, 
turning his eyes in the direction indicated, he beheld, nod- 
ding vigorously at him, her black eyes twinkling, and a 
smile of welcome and recognition lighting up her face, 
very much like the lurid illumination from the mouth- 
slit in the face of a pumpkin Jack-o'-lantern, — the 
amorphous Mrs. Mamie Gunn! 

Mr. Meeks returned the bow with the utmost hauteur, 
— that is, with the most which his trepidation would per- 
mit him to assume. At this interchange of courtesies, 
indicating an acquaintance, Mrs. Rakeless was aghast. 
Both rose, and in a dazed way retreated into the Ladies' 
Parlor wliere a couple, whom they did not observe, sat 

369 


370 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


noiselessly in the shadow. But the tread of heavy feet 
came after them, and immediately in came rolling the 
shapeless mass known as Mrs. Gunn. 

“ How de do, Mr. Meeks? Don’t think I take our little 
spats at Nu Warleens to heart; don’t. I don’t bear no 
malice, I don’t. Haw, haw, haw!” laughed the good- 
humored lady. 

And who’s this?” she said, pointing at his companion; 
intry-juice me, don’t be backward ’bout making up; I 
got some news to tell yo’ all.” 

If Mrs. Gunn had not ventured this last statement, 
undoubtedly Mr. Meeks would have excused himself per- 
emptorily and retreated. But for reasons of his own Meeks 
did want much to hear just the news which Mrs. Gunn 
could give him. So when she went on to say: 

When I wants a thing I bangs ahead and gets it, 
don’t be back’erds: intry-juice me,” Meeks said: 

^'Excuse me, I forgot you weren’t acquainted. Mrs. 
Gunn this is my wife, Mrs. Bake — Mrs. Meeks.” 

This information did not seem to stagger ]\[rs. Gunn 
quite so much as he had expected, considering the circum- 
stances under which she had seen him last, with Greta by 
his side. Instead, she rather astounded him: 

0, yes,” she said, I know all ’bout that’ar. I hearn 
tell how that 'ar engagement of yourn with Miss Greta is 
done been broke off, and how all she’s engaged to that ’ar 
Boston Yank. Saw ’em in the graveyahd las’ Sunday at 
the Pass, thick and talking slick, an’ a-squeezin’ like a 
cotton-press.” 


THE BRIDAL TOCR OF MR. AKI) MRS. SMITH. 371 

Meeks was aware that Mrs. Gunn was subject to optical 
illusions and that her memory was liable to strange lapses 
from the strict, literal truth. But the fact that she evinced 
no surprise at hearing of his marriage made him conclude 
that there might be some fire under her smoke. 

‘‘But Pm a-forgettiiP of myself,^' she continued; “I 
kin be perlite an^ sociable, too. Mr. and Mrs. Turtle,^’ 
addressing the still two who sat in the shadow; “this is 
Mrs. Meeks, the newly-married bride of the legal gent who 
uster board with us all at Nu Warleens.” 

The legal gent felt a cold chill; Mr. and Mrs. Turtle 
were from St. Louis. The danger was steadily advancing. 

“ Yes?” replied Mr. and Mrs. Turtle. Then they rose 
and bowed silently to the “ intry-juiced ” and newly-mar- 
ried bride. 

“ But now tell us all,” said the affable Mrs. Gunn, 
“ why do yo' all register as Mr. and Mrs. Smith ?” Mrs. 
Gunn knew Meeks’ hand-writing from his notes to Greta at 
their boarding-house, and had scanned the hotel register. 

“ Oh ! — er” — stammered the startled Meeks, “it was a 
runaway match, kind of sudden you know, got into the 
newspapers ; we hated publicity, retiring, don’t you know ? 
So to avoid attracting attention we temporarily use the 
name of Smith. The law allows that you know.” 

“ Law sakes alive ! Dew tell ! Well, I thought it 
war something of that ke-ind,” said the apparently simple 
lady.” 

“ And so you all are on your bridal tower ! Dew tell! 
What newspaper was it in ? ” 


m 


THE MADONNTA OF PASS CHRlSTIA>r. 


Well now look here, Mrs. Gunn, I don^t remember, 
but isn’t it about time for you to tell me something ? 
What is that news you were going to tell me 

“ Who ? Me ? Oh, yes, I mos’ forgot. Why, Mr. and 
Mrs. Turtle and me are on a tower, — a tower of the South. 
That’s the news. Come along an’ jine us, — you an’ your 
bride. We’ll have a reg’lar Norwidgian bridle procesliun.” 
Mrs. Gunn obtained this simile from a composition of 
Grieg’s which Greta had played, for her. 

At the thought of a bridal party consisting of Mrs. 
Gunn, the Turtles, lawyer Meeks, herself and the detec- 
tive, Mrs. Eakeless gave a wild laugh, and rocked herself 
backward and forward. 

We’ll tell you to-morrow, madam,” said Meeks, as 
soon as he could sufficiently command his choking indig- 
nation at the result of his fruitless sacrifice for news ; at 
present we have an engagement to drive. Good day,” and 
he dragged from the parlor, rather then led, the convulsed 
form of Mrs. Rakeless. Ordering a light buggy, the two 
drove out of Mobile upon the Shell Road. On their right, 
was an endless series of beautiful homes and pleasure- 
grounds. Away to the left expanded the bay, rippling 
and glittering in the warm sunlight, and its waters, as if 
too beautiful for earth, in the distance ascended to heaven 
in feathery mists. Elegant carriages filled with black-eyed 
Alabama Graces, attended by princely riders on horseback, 
met them coming and going to and*fro all along the road. 
Fine old plantations were there, with dwellings bearing 
traces of ^^befo’-de-wah” magnificence, and there were tern- 


THE BRIDAL TOUR OF MR. AND MRS. SMITH. 373 


pies enshrined in groves all dotted with scarlet berries and 
the white waxen fruit of the mistletoe. 

Among the rustic beauty of the quiet environs ; by 
stately country-seats on the crests of wooded hills or down 
in the valleys between; among lagoons from the bay where 
sunken logs idled and tangled in wild vines, bushes and 
blazing colored weeds; by salt marsh islands, among glim- 
mering bayous that ran around and crossed wastes haunted 
by wild turkeys, ducks and swarms of other fowl ; along 
the precipitous deep red bluffs of the bay, crowned by 
lofty pines, their light vehicle danced and skimmed, and 
then by the bay’s low and sandy beaches, where crystal 
streams raced to their goal in the sea. Refreshed by the 
bracing salt wind, they drove back again on a road walled 
in by ramparts of vegetation, close forests of scrub pine 
springing out of white sand, heavy thickets of live oaks, 
sycamores, hickories, pecans and bur trees. As they 
passed a dark mysterious lagoon where impenetrable 
jungles of undergrowth were knit together by thick 
trunks of wild grape, a light shower began to fall. It 
shed a new glistening beauty of liquid jewels on the green 
walls of verdure, and the defiant and sharp-bladed dwarf 
palmetto and cactus, in bristling masses, became vague in 
the vapor like a dream of the tropics. 

But the rain — it was only a sun-shower — cleared away, 
and as they re-entered the suburbs of Mobile, the clouds 
rolled back, heaping themselves in vast folds upon the 
horizon, while a mellow sunset glimmered through. It 
lighted up a picture of tender beauty. In the foreground 


374 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


were the shaded streets of the quaint old town ; dripping, 
sparkling magnolias and camellias in the gardens, airy 
church spires rising, while far away in the background 
tall masts at the levee drew sharp, black lines against the 
red sky. 

They were not loud and merry, — this bride and bride- 
groom. Perhaps that was because their conversation was 
philosophical rather than frivolous : about the Nathan 
murder and how the murderer was never discovered ; the 
Chicago Snell murder, where hundreds of thousands of 
dollars failed to secure the criminal ; the Jennie Cramer 
murder; the unknown girl at Rahway; the Charley Ross 
kidnapping; the theft of A. T. Stewart’s body; how so 
many and many a high crime committed under such cir- 
cumstances and upon such sufferers as would lead to dis- 
covery if detection were sure, — has ever, notwithstanding 
the lime-light glare of constant publicity, remained an 
undiscovered mystery. A very interesting discussion it 
was of the truth of the aphorism ‘^murder will out” — if 
precautions enough are taken. Surely praise was due this 
estimable young couple for their scientific interest in the 
philosophy of murder. They might have wasted their 
time in talking of something light and trifling. 

“ From too much love of living, 

From hope and fear set free, 

We thank with brief thanksgiving, 

Whatever gods may be. 

That no life lives forever ; 

That dead men rise up never ; 

That even the weariest river 
Winds somewhere safe to sea.” 


THE BRIDAL TOUR OF MR. AND MRS. SMITH. 375 


The gentleman who quoted this as his life maxim then 
further illustrated the inability of dead men to rise under 
inconvenient circumstances, and explained the rule of 
criminal courts ; suspicion is not evidence.” Discoveries 
after a crime might tend to cast suspicion on the really 
guilty, but unless the evidence was exclusive of ^Reason- 
able doubts ” as to guilt, the jury must acquit. 

So conversed this woman and this man, the one, beau- 
tiful and graceful as tigress lying close to the ground, the 
other, a serpent more subtile than any beast of the field, 
joined together, not by God, who and what was to cast 
them asunder ? 

Caged animals, barred criminals, trapped plotters, fall- 
ing fiends in a pit whose bottom might never be reached, — 
what devils whispered with them during their ride through 
loveliness like that of Paradise ? 

They saw only one way of escape possible. Like the 
single red glow in the western sky over Mobile where all 
around was blackening, the solitary way which tempted 
them to freedom, was a streak of fluid crimson. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


THE WEDDING JOURNEY CONTINUED. 

“ For the crowa ot our life as it closes, 

Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust ; 

No thorns go as deep as a rose’s, ‘ 

And love is more cruel than lust. 

Time turns the old days to derision. 

Our loves into corpses or wives : 

And marriage and death and division 
Make barren our lives.” 

We shall give up our rooms now/^ said Mr. Smith to 
the Battle House clerk after supper. 

As he spoke, Mr. Brown, who was lounging near, 
started slightly, as if surprised. The reason why Mr. 

Brown heard Mr. Smith was because the latter waited, 
before announcing his plans to the hotel clerk, until Mr. 

Brown should come within ear-shot. 

‘‘You will not be here to-night?” asked the clerk. 

“No, my wife desires to go to Pass Christian. We 
shall leave to-night.” 

“ But, sir, the train goes at an awkward hour, — not 
until two hours past midnight. Did you know that, 
sir?” 

“Yes. We must reach the Pass early in the morn- / 
ing, so the only thing to do is to sit up and wait for the 
two A. M. tr^^in.” 

The travelers settled their bill, left a delusive note 

3T6 


THE WEDDING JOURNEY COXTINUKD. 377 

for Mrs. Gunn— whom they seemed to evade, and spent 
the early part of the evening strolling on Government 
street, or on the other city thoroughfares which were gay 
and well lighted at that hour. Then they ostentaiiously 
went to the depot, bought tickets and checked baggage 
for Pass Christian, and in the Ladies’ Room ” sat down to 
wait for midnight. 

All that night behind them marched John Brown, with 
a zealous watch” on them that never grew languid. 
As he had stared at them in his dull, sneaking way as 
they went about the hotel, so now he pursued them imr 
portunately through the streets, dogged them everywhere; 
covertly listened if possible when they talked, and that 
light-hearted young married couple let him abide in the 
happy self-assurance that ignorance was the cause of their 
bliss. Stealthy John Brown had chloroformed all other 
faculties than that of '^getting evidence;” the idea of 
covering his own flanks against possible attack never 
occurred to him, and he held on, like a bull dog burying 
its teeth in flesh while its body is being cut to pieces. He 
tried with his shallow cunning to avoid their notice as 
much as possible, and preserve his incognito, although 
now that was a secondary matter. He was sure of his 
complete success, when, at the depot, he saw the two 
within the Ladies* Waiting Room chatting so gaily as the 
lonesome hours flew on, without lifting their eyes to where 
he stood in the street, or hovered on the platform, or 
waited near the door, or slunk to and fro with heavy face 
and empty head» 


378 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Could he have looked beyond the paltry “evidence” 
which he was gathering; could he have read the aspect of 
those whom he unconsciously held at bay, wild with rage 
at being hunted and so beset ; were his mental vision able 
to see the black design in their smiling faces— which, like 
night, had concealed and buried ail other thoughts — his 
limited comprehension might have felt that indeed there 
was a cunning net winding, but that it might catch him 
within its interwoven meshes, and that its first victim 
might be neither of the two whom he pursued. 

The ground shook, brazen bells clanged, there was a 
fierce, impetuous rush through the night air, and the 
train from the North was in. 

Carefully shunning a sleeping-car, Mr. and Mrs. Smith 
took seats in an ordinary day-coach, and Mr. Brown, 
always neighborly, slunk into the same car a short dis- 
tance behind them. 

The train glided off over a smooth, firm road-bed, with 
little jar or jostle. It was what the French picturesquely 
call a “White Night.” Far down the bay lustrous sails 
were moving, and beyond them, against the clear sky, the 
great columnar black smoke of an ocean steamer darkened 
the horizon. Dim pine forests now and then raised their 
long arms to heaven about them as they rushed, and the 
branches waved back and forth with deep and mournful 
respirations; perhaps spirits of red men and haughty 
Spaniards who once roamed there were loosened now and 
racing through them in long black trains; or, perhaps the 
weird sighs that they heard were the fluttering of only one 


THE WEDDING JOURNEY CONTINUED. 


3T9 


Evil Spirit hurrying along to keep pace with two passen- 
gers on that west-bound train. 

Gay and happy they seemed, but the pretty white teeth 
of Mrs. Kakeless indented her lip now and then in the 
very midst of their mirth, and the sardonic grins of her 
companion were like the twitching of the muscles of a dead 
face when inspired by electricity, — and the scowl above the 
projecting, leering jaw was ever deepening. But they 
were very self-possessed now, and self-contained, and their 
self-comm!and was like that of those who have made up 
their minds that they have only one chance for life, and 
that is, to kill or be killed. 

Half-past three. 

Scranton calls out the brakeman as the train stops 
a moment. 

Good place for shooting here!^’ remarks Meeks. 

^"Shooting — who?” answers his companion, sharply 
and eagerly. 

Duck and snipe — only.” 

On again, — towards Ocean Springs. The moon was 
soaring bright and high, and the earth reflected the objects 
on its breast like a deep, still pool. Hedges of Cherokee 
roses, magnolias, low plantation negro huts, cedars, flrs, 
seaside villas, country church steeples, were all contem- 
plating their own fair images in the mirror below them. 

From the salt marshes of the gulf shore a scented breeze 
came rustling through the forest, and then the quivering 
leaves saw their delighted shadows dancing on the ground. 
Carried by the breeze, perhaps, some poor, frightened 


380 


THE HA DONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


butterfly found its way through an open window and 
fluttered into Mrs. Rakeless’ lap. 

How beautiful this dear little thing is now after its 
former repulsiveness!” she exclaimed, as a tenderness stole 
over her for a moment. I wonder now really if the dead, 
like the crawling caterpillar, do not some day break their 
prison and spread their wings, fairer than a butterfly. If 
the Deity so clothes the mean worm, — if He cares for the 
insect which must die to-morrow, — if he condescends to 
spend all that wisdom, all that love, upon a fly, is it not 
more reasonable that He will clothe such as us in fairer 
garments?” 

^‘Such as us,” echoed Meeks, smiling grimly. *‘No, 
you can not figure on that. A horse is much nobler than 
a worm; yet a horse dies, and we don’t see him flying off 
with the wings of a butterfly. Evidently the resurrection of 
the butterfly is no more typical of ours than of the horse’s. 
Suppose a cannibal eats a good Christian mivssionary, 
digests him, until, in course of time, missionary and can- 
nibal are inextricably blended together. Suppose, then, 
that the cannibal is converted and then dies; how is that 
cannibal and that missionary going to be raised from the 
dead? Evidently the Bible claim is absurd, — yet that is 
the only one worth considering, for one moment, against 
the discoveries of science.” 

But the substance of the caterpillar,” said Mrs. Rake- 
less, womanlike, stirred by argument into taking a posi- 
tion very unusual to her, ^^is not transmuted into the 
substance of the butterfly. No more does the raised mis- 


THE WEDDING JOURNEY CONTINUED. 


381 


sionary need to come from the dust of the dead one. IVhen 
an oak is about to become another oak its life is committed 
to an acorn and then buried. The enfolding matter of 
the oak^s soul decays and becomes to the risen oak no 
more than any other matter. The continuance of the oak 
depends not upon the continuance of the acorn, but rather 
upon getting rid of it."" 

‘‘My learned brother at the bar,"" said Meeks, with 
mock judicial gravity, “your similes of butterflies and 
seed planting illustrate the resurrection as moonshine 
resembles the sunlight. You, and other Christians, will 
not claim that you argue better than Paul who talked 
about the seed dying and being quickened again. But all 
this seed and butterfly business is foolishness. Also a 
human being may die having left seed, which, after his 
death, is born into another human being. Pray, is that 
resurrection?"" and he then added, with quiet emphasis: — 

“ We shall change as the things which we cherish, — 

Shall fade as they faded before, 

As foam upon water shall perish. 

As sand upon shore.” 

Mrs. Rakeless did not speak again, and her face took 
on a hard, fixed, desperate look, and in the dim carlight 
her shining eyes again had the glare of those beings who 
crouch at night in some East Indian brush-wood. They 
both drew a long breath and glanced out of the car 
window. 

Darting one minute into a grove of firs and balsamy 
pines, hiding next in a patch of vapor; emerging now upon 


382 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


clear broad meadows; withdrawing into another stretch of 
woods, always surely dashing on — the swift, certain jour- 
ney was patterned after the swifter gallop of the pale horse 
and its rider. And all along the way there was the strange 
pulsation and the throbbing in the air, and the weird sigh- 
ing among the pines, as if unseen monstrous wings were 
flapping in ghastly unison with the jolting of the train — 
some grisly shape, perhaps, flying with a shuddering airy 
dance to attend the two grim passengers within, and ever 
reeling with them onward. 

Four o’clock: — 

Ocean Springs!” 

Fifteen minutes past four: — 

Biloxi!” and the wide and regular streets of a 
sleeping town go sweeping by. Miles of shell-paved drives 
follow, which are bordered by villas and country hotels, 
all wearing a corpse-like pallor, a dead white look, at this 
small hour. 

Through incorporeal eyes in the back of his head, per- 
haps — for he never turned around — Meeks seemed to be- 
come aware that Mr. Brown had left his seat and gone to 
the rear platform outside to breathe the fresh morning air. 
Whispering to his golden-haired companion, Meeks left 
her and followed their follower. The two stood alone on 
the platform. Brown was on a lower step, grasping the 
iron rail and looking drowsily outward at the objects flit- 
ting past. Meeks swiftly and silently approached him 
and reached out his strong right arm. But just then 
Brown turned his head. From the corners of his detective 


THE WEDDIJ^G JOURNEY CONTINUED. 


383 


eyes he caught sight of some menacing form behind him, 
and he looked up quickly to perceive that it was Meeks, 
but not so quickly as to observe him drop that out- 
stretched arm. As their glances met, the man who called 
himself Brown, — whether from remarking in Meeks^faceor 
in the cold glitter of his shark-like eyes something that 
would have made the company of a mad bloodhound or a 
glaring rattlesnake highly preferable, or whether from 
mere shock at having almost fallen from the car, — uttered 
a loud squeak, like a drowning rat, and involuntarily 
sprang up towards the door. 

‘‘ What^s the matter?^' said Meeks, with a harsh laugh; 
do you generally bounce that way when any one comes 
near you?"' 

The man could answer nothing. 

You travel up and down this road, don’t you?" said 
Meeks, designing to allay doubt. 

'‘Yes, sir." 

" I thought so. I can always tell a traveling man 
when I see him," said he, as if boastfully; “I saw you at 
the hotel in Mobile, didn't I?" 

" Yes," was again the answer. 

"Well, I'm a lawyer, and I give you a piece of advice, 
gratis: don't flirt too much with women." 

No other advice could have pleased Mr. Brown more. 
It told him that if he were suspected at all, it was of an 
intended flirtation with Meeks' pretended wife. He had 
ogled her at dinner, he remembered, while the husband 
was -gone a few minutes on some unknown purpose. He 


384 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


thought that coquetting would divert suspicion from his 
real errand, and Mrs. Rakeless had been gracious enough 
to humor him and place his mind at perfect ease. 

Thus, on terms of perfect confidence in one another, 
this amiable and happy party, at five o’clock Sunday morn- 
ing, arrived and alighted at the calm and peaceful station 
of Pass Christian. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


THE HAPPY PAIK DISMISS THEIR ATTENDANT. 

‘ ‘ To-night they hold a meeting, 

The church is all aglow, 

Outside, through the lighted window, 

Moves a shadow to and fro. 

Thou seest him not in the darkness, 

He stands without, apart. 

Still less, my dear, thou seest 
Within his gloomy heart.” 

Dawn — cold, empty and unsentient, with its wan and 
wasted face — crept shivering, one Sunday morning, to a 
secluded cottage of Pass Christian. With dawn, two 
equally pale and spectral travelers also furtively sought 
admission there. It was a low-roofed, rambling building, 
and a sombre grove of aged oaks, magnolias and evergreens 
concealed it from the few wayfarers along the lonely road. 
One cypress and two or three orange trees clustered about 
it closely, and its white walls and verandah were just visi- 
ble from the highway, peeping through the foliage. From 
outside its dimensions appeared small, but, on approaching 
it through the grounds, it seemed to spread out disjointedly 
until it had included within its stretching walls a series of 
low rooms, indefinite in number and enigmatic in kind. 
The whole wore a spacious look well becoming a country 
mansion. An air of desolation and decay, however, and 
the hand of war and misfortune, heavily rested on it and 


386 


THE MADOKHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


on its owners. They called it the Vale Cottage, and were 
ready to eke out their scanty livelihood by using it as a 
hostelry for transient visitors to the winter resort. So ‘‘a 
brother and an invalid sister had sought its privacy, 
there to pass the Sunday,” having forewarned the land- 
lady by telegraphing from Mobile the night before, that 
they would arrive thus early. 

When they rapped, the door opened and closed upon 
them, and they retired to their separate, though communi- 
cating, rooms. The brother told Mrs. Vale that his sister, 
who was unusually feeble, would naturally remain in her 
apartment all day, taking her meals there and seeing no 
one, while he, of course, would attend her. On the mor- 
row they were going on. 

Night — the loiterer — slouched and hung around the 
Vale Cottage long that morning, as if loth to go from home, 
— pacing to and fro on the gravel walks, lurking under the 
shrubbery, and brooding, sombre and heavy, within its 
secret chambers. But at length a rosy blush tinged the 
smoke-white clouds that curled up from the eastern hori- 
zon, and night, growing pale before the pink scouts of day, 
cowered and faded gradually from the ruddy chimneys of 
the cottage and from the snowy verandah, though it still 
crouched knowingly in the thicket by the closed window- 
blinds of the hidden ^‘brother and sister.” The distressed 
cypress breathed deep sighs for nighCs departure, and 
waved its many hands in mournful farewell, and showered 
dewy tears in sorrow upon the grass, the portico, and the 
stone-cold steps of the last dark fortress of the fleeing 
gloom. 


THE HAPPY PAIR DISMISS TUEIR ATTENDANT. 387 


An apparition rose in sight above neighboring house- 
roofs as the dusk and obscurity lessened; the whitening 
tower of the Catholic church, gray beacon on the sea of 
time, emerged from the ebb of the receding night, ringing 
its bell like certain floating buoys on other seas, — pealing 
out the daily angelus, proclaiming the coming sunrise as it 
would the later sunset, and so marking the rising and the 
falling of the diurnal tides that swell and dash upon the 
eternal shore. 

As the angelus sounded, the brightening day rose up 
from the Gulf, burnishing the gable ends, steeples, and 
the tiles and shingles of the higher roofs, and reddening 
the distant waters. The grieving cypress in dry despair 
wept no more for its stampeding confederate, its fallen 
tear-drops vanished, and night, beaten from its last citadel, 
shrunk away with the frightened dawn into the western 
forest, there to hide in ambuscade until wearied day itself 
should retreat, and night’s skirmisher, dawn, emboldened 
to pursue, should come forth in the guise of twilight. 

Margareta Lind was spending her last Sunday at the 
Pass. The witchery of so many long and not unhappy 
days was now to end. On the morrow she and her mother 
would leave for their northern home. In Order to bid the 
gentle southern country a more lingering farewell, they 
together took a long stroll in the afternoon fields, listen- 
ing to the Sabbath birds and bells, and breathing the sweet 
odors. Nature softly murmured, around them and held 
them in her caressing arms, as if loath to let them go. 

' Sometimes they gazed fondly at the blue horizon. 


388 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


beyond which lay their pleasant journey and their home ; 
but, as often, they glanced about regretfully on the green 
southern meadows and orange groves. But in the dolce 
far niente atmosphere they thought indistinctly even of 
going away, idly postponing reflection from moment to 
moment, while yet, self-deceivers, they went on thinking 
all the while. 

In the same abstracted mood they left the country ?nd 
strolled through the village to their hotel. The mother 
went to her room ; Greta, to a little music parlor, whica 
the beauty of the afternoon outside had tempted everyone 
to desert. Being alone, she sat down at the piano there. 

After Warren had gone, and her life had subsided into 
its usual channels, Greta at first could only wander aim- 
lessly. about, and sometimes overcome by a feeling of 
unrest and desolation withdraw to her room and begin 
again the bitter reverie over Meeks, her wasted past, and 
the gray future, with a grief and remorse that would not 
be comforted by anything that luxury had to offer. The 
church, the cemetery, and the roads over which she had 
rambled with Warren, then all full of beauty, were now 
a source of pain. 

But Warren had left within her, however, a faint, new- 
born hope, and Greta, quietly trusting, at length gained 
more of peace, and finally welcomed the memories of him 
whom she loved. If this Sunday evening he could have 
seen how sorrowful had grown the soft gray eyes that once 
were hard with scoffing ; could he have caught a glimpse 
of the exquisitely-defined face, tlie light, graceful figure. 


THE HAPPY PAIR DISMISS THEIR ATTEJ^-DAXT. 389 


enfolded in a mystery of gossamer white, and could he 
have heard the seraph music from her fingers as she 
played that dying love-song of Raff called La Fileuse, 
Warren would have thought he was enjoying another vision 
of the Madonna, indeed, — but this time surely a heavenly 
one. 

Still in the solitary parlor at sun-down, she lightly 
sang a song of Grieg^s, which Warren had heard from her 
and Hked. Its accompaniment was a brief succession of 
chords, and words and music softly thrilled only like the 
echo of what had quivered for him before, rather like her 
memory^’s tender song than the utterance of her lips. 
And in the twilight there she sung to him who was so 
silent and unresponsive, again and again, until the half- 
suppressed harmony was all stifled, and the melody of the 
tearful voice, like the birds of the dewy evening, was 
hushed. 

^^0 Mith Greta!” exclaimed a little child who came 
running into the parlor. 

Here I am, Willie,” she called. 

Won^t you go with me to-night to the darkey church 
to hear the darkies singing? ” 

This infant was the son of one of the guests, and, as 
she playfully termed him, was Greta’s new beau,” Meeks 
the Third.” She was certain that he was a connoisseur in 
female loveliness, since, having seen her, he had madly 
loved. In his infatuous passion, nothing could tear this 
young man from her side,— except, indeed, unusually sav- 
age threats of a slipper. Perhaps Greta was not altogether 


390 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


ingenuous, for she had deliberately coquetted with her 
lover by enticing him with fairy stories, telling him of the 
world of sprites and nixies who lived in the deep, deep 
woods where dawn hid, and danced on tufts of meadow 
grass, and on brooks frozen by magic, in the moonlit mid- 
nights. Greta was kind to children, and this little one 
in turn adored her as some ancient heathen might wor- 
ship an Olympian goddess, or as to-day’s savant worships 
some far-off starry Uranie. This tender child-love igave 
much gentle amusement to the hoteFs population, but it was 
accompanied with respect for Greta's increasing kindness. 
In these latter days she had gradually developed such uni- 
versal courtesy and thoughtfulness for others' comfort 
that she was going to be missed among the warm hearts 
left behind her Monday. The spectacular negro meetings 
were accounted one of the diversions of Pass Christian, 
and. Greta humored the child by telling liim she foresaw 
no objection to such a lovers' stroll. 

The glory of the departing sun was upon two other 
faces then. Music — the music of birds in the copse about 
the Vale Cottage — was in their ears also. Sweet flowers 
bloomed near their window, as they waited and waited. 
The outlines of homes of domestic happiness, could be 
seen from their watching-place, and the old gray spire of 
the Catholic church, with its cross, rose up between them 
and the coming night. They read not the lesson which 
these pictures taught; they mocked them, as they had ever 
done, and turned their heads away, yet, before the sun had 
finally gone from them, once they gazed about, wistfully 


THE HAPPY PAIR DISMISS THEIR ATTEJfDANT. 391 


and half sorrowfully, upon the evening scene. Then the 
gathering shadows of night around them shut out the 
light forever. 

At dark the ‘^brother” left his room and called the 
landlady. Looking at her intently, he said, with slow 
caution, as if the words were not the impromptu of the 
moment but had been laboriously memorized : — 

For several days and nights my sister and I have 
been on the road from Maine to New Orleans and Mexico. 
We are still very tired. I am going to bed now. She is 
already sleeping as well as an invalid can. So do not wake 
us; let no one, under any consideration or for any reason, 
knock at our doors — thus disturbing us. Call us in the 
morning for the 4 A. M. train. Not before.” 

Mrs. Vale promised that his injunction should be 
respected. She remarked at the time that he then 
repeated his careful request, in an abstracted, wearied 
manner, and that bis face was dusky white, as if his 
mechanical utterance was part of an artificial drama of 
which the actor was well-nigh tired. 

‘‘Don’t let any servant rap, — so that we may sleep 
well.” 

Again she promised. Then the good brother, so tender 
of his sister’s welfare, retired into his room, locked it, and 
hung a towel over the line of sight through the keyhole. 
These precautions taken, he stepped to the door commu- 
nicating with the invalid’s room. 

“ Isabelle ! ” he whispered. 

She came into his room, cloaked and dressed for going 


392 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


out, and with a veil in her hand all ready to adjuit. Her 
stahyart companion put on a slouch hat that would partly 
conceal and disguise his features. They sat down by a 
door, which, in accordance with the Southern custom, 
opened from their bedroom for ventilation upon the veran- 
dah outside. By this convenient place of egress they 
waited and watched. 

In their stalls and pastures beasts were quiet, and in 
this plantation region many tired human creatures now 
slept. Fowls had ceased to cackle and the birds no longer 
sung from their nests in the branches of the oaks. In the 
cold, bright, glistening bayous and rivulets which ran to 
the Gulf, the fishes were dancing in an all-night ball, and 
cared not for mortal affairs. But the solemn night was 
awake, never removing its steady gaze, observing just as 
much with its dark eyes close by as with its far-off stars. 
The staring moon, the wandering wind, the sentinel trees, 
the lurking shadowed lane, the wide-awake open fields, — 
all were vigilant. There was not a softly-tattling orange 
blossom or trembling blade of grass, but whispered and 
looked with expectation, and the all-pervading quiet 
showed how cautious and attent was the scrutiny of that 
night. 

Sitting among the Creator’s angels who so closely 
observed them through their trellised window, they never 
faltered nor wavered, and still consulted how they might 
break His laws without being seen. They had no light. 
In the dreary, long, and awful silence, the evening church- 
bells began to ring. This was their signal. Most of the 


THE HAPPY PAIR DISMISS THEIR ATTENDANT. 393 


occupants of the house, they knew, would now go out to 
worship, while those who did not, rustic-like, would sleep 
and leave them free. The sweet, calm melody of the bells 
summoned them to the fulfillment of their plan, and when 
footsteps had retreated indistinctly down the walk, and 
died out, leaving them, as they knew, alone in an empty 
house, they opened the outer door, looked out, — and fol- 
lowed the call of the bells. 

All was clear and quiet. Having cautiously locked the 
door after them, they stole away through the shrubbery 
toward a carriage gate that opened at one side of the front 
fence into the road. As they had anticipated, they had 
gone but a little ways, when they discerned the detective 
following them. Those sirens, the bells, had lured him to 
his fate — and perhaps others too — and now thqt their work 
was done their singing ceased, and there followed a hush 
prophetic of storm. 

Suddenly, as if the watching, still night would give a 
warning, lightning began to flash and quiver in the sky, 
whose face commenced to blacken fast. The advancing 
wind tuggingly grumbled and groaned as if burdened with 
heavy thunder which it was dragging in its train. Per- 
haps,, as the detective glanced at the gathering storm, he 
thought of the two fugitives before him, as timid rabbits 
running to cover. But the catastrophe in the air, he be- 
lieved, was a long ways off, and the prevailing, solemn 
muttering was to him only dull intelligence of noise and 
conflict afar, — not the hovering signal of his death. 

He dodged cunningly in and out of the shadows, — this 


394 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


man of one idea. Devoted to liis mission, he followed 
them as stupidly as a sheep follows its leader over the 
stile; they humored him, and led the sheep on to his 
slaughter. Both laughed and talked gaily, and he, hear- 
ing them, congratulated himself on their unconsciousness 
and the near prospect of valuable evidence. 

But the judgment seat before which he was ‘next to 
testify was not on this world, and they laughed so gayly 
because his dodges and leaps and antics evidenced to them 
the flopping and struggling of a hooked and captured fish 
which the angler is drawing in. 

The lonely road led them across an open field, and all 
the way they leisurely sauntered with every appearance of 
mirth. And that mirth was more than apparent. It was 
that real joy which a savage has when he sees a hated, 
mortal enemy, entering a fatal ambuscade. 

They went beyond the railroad, towards the haggard 
assembly of moss-hung oaks that stood around the colored 
Methodist church. Its windows and door were open wide, 
for the weather was thick and sultry. The glare of lamps 
within the building threw them who were passing by into 
black shadow, and they were able to see, unobserved, who 
might be within. Meeks turned and looked. 

‘^May the devil help me !” he ejaculated. It was a 
peculiarity of his profanity that he never used the name of 
the Deity, nor called on Him to aid or curse. 

^‘Well, what^s the matter now?^^ asked his tigerish 
companion, — her feline eyes brilliant with yellow fire. 

‘‘ Nothing — only this is a bad business.^^ 


THE HAPPY PAIR DISMISS THEIR ATTENDANT. 395 


“Not doing it is worse,” she retorted ; “ nothing ven- 
ture, nothing liave.” 

“And we'll ^have' much that we don't want if we 
don't ^ venture ' ? So be it.” 

“Amen,” — and then they continued on their Sunday 
evening stroll. 

Was it “ nothing” that the good brother had seen ? 

Only a girl within the church, robed in the white which 
the redeemed wear, and as pure and beautiful as they; only 
his lost Margareta, with a tender, wistful look on her sweet 
face, like that which she had for him in other days. The 
thought that that gentle longing which used to be once 
only for him was now, as Mrs. Gunn had said, for another, 
rent that which in Meeks took the place of a soul. Her 
loving, innocent face rose up before him only to harden. 
That softening, radiant image suddenly flashing into the 
blight and darkness about him, could only intensify the 
encircling gloom. Her loved presence, doubly dear now, 
only nerved him the more to the last desperate chance of 
regaining her. And as he set his teeth, a zigzag of red 
lightning darted, and a clap of thunder shouted to them 
and warned them that whatever they would do, they must 
do it quickly. Fearing that rain might overtake them too 
soon, they pressed hurriedly on into the woods and disap- 
peared. 


CHAPTER XXXL 


THE EHCHAHTED FOREST. 

“ Deep and still, that gliding stream, 

Beautiful to thee must seem » 

As the river of a dream.” 

But I hear an anxious whisper 
Through the linden branches coming, 

And below the sombre mill-stream 
Murmurs dreams of evil omen. ” 

As G-reta walked to cliurch with Willie that evening 
there was an indefinable sense of oppression in her heart. 
Why or what it was she could not tell, only that it was 
like a sombre shadow. Their path was the same over 
which she and Warren had gone on the previous Sunday 
afternoon, just before he went away. At first she was 
silent and dreamy, but at length she gazed at Willie and 
tried to picture in his place a taller, manlier figure, which 
was there a week ago. Her present cavalier saw in that 
look only a signal that conversation might begin, linked 
his arm within hers and prattled of this and that. For a 
little time Greta could not see or hear him plainly, there 
being a slight mist between her eyes and him, in which 
shone the kindly Greatheart who had led this Christiana 
from the City of Destruction. 

‘‘What did you say?” she finally asked. 

Willie explained that he wanted to tell her about a visit 


THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 


397 


be made lately to a villa near Mobile, where’^ said he, a 
mitliter man told me how to trap a ^kunk.” 

What 9^^ 

^^’Kunk! Don^t you know what a^kimk ith?^' said the 
lisping child, surprised at the ignorance of one so mature 
as Greta. The impediment in Willie’s speech disabled 
him from pronouncing the letter when it began a 
word; considering this and prefixing the missing letter to 
the enigmatic syllable which Willie uttered, Greta suc- 
ceeded in translating it into ordinary English. 

Willie then continued his narrative. At the villa he had 
inspected the lodge of the gardener who showed him, as a 
rare and highly valuable curiosity, a trapped and deceased 
animal of the species of which little use is made in per- 
fumery. 

‘‘'Now, here, Mith Greta,”said Willie, pulling a mass of 
something from his pocket in a determined manner, “ do 
you feel thith ’tring? I’m going to drive a ’tick very 
firmly into the ground and tie thith ’tring to it, and in the 
other end of the ’tring make a loop.” 

He illustrated so much of his plan by making a loop from 
six inches to a foot in diameter. Then he exhibited some 
oyster crackers. 

“Thith, Mith Greta, ith reg’lar ’kunkbait.” 

“ Is that all your apparatus for ensnaring the deluded 
animal?” she asked, thinking how a Bostonian would have 
worded the question. 

“Yeth, Mith Greta, I will the-air [share] the animal 
with you.” 


398 


THE MADOX N: A OP PASS CIIRISTIAX. 


"‘No, no; is that all you do to cabbage 
Yeth, we gobble Mitbter "kunk thith way: put crack- 
erth in the loop, and when Mr. ^kunk cometh along, he^ll 
get in the loop, and kuffle and kuffle and knffle around 
until he get caught. 

am pleased,^^ she said, ^^with the ingenuity of your 
device. Whenever I want a ^kunk as a pet, I will surely 
try that method of catching him. And always, Willie, 
will I carry your recipe with me, and do it in remembrance 
of you.” 

Willie was much flattered. 

As Greta merrily gave this answer, they approached the 
Vale Cottage. Some of her fairy tales to Willie had been 
of bewitched castles, shut up in the heart of thick forests, 
and others, of haunted houses ; but none, to her fancy, 
were more foreboding and prescient of haunting evil than 
was this lowering abode. It frowned upon the street, from 
black groups of shrubbery, and two snarling oaks leaned 
across the foot-path to the door, — twin giants on guard as 
ogres over sleeping beauties within. So conjectured Greta. 
From the depths of this thicket of mysteries, a flxed red 
lantern, very like the red eye of a sleepless dragon, glared 
at her fiercely. A vague presentiment of evil came over 
her as she noticed a stranger leaning against the fence who 
had assumed the careless manner of a lounger. Concealed 
from the cottagers’ view, he himself was where he could 
hear coming feet and see their owners, as they issued from 
the enclosure. He was smoking a cigar, and as he lifted 
his hand to take it from his lips she could see on his 


THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 


399 


finger the glittering of a. diamond ring. All this Greta 
included in one glance, and as she went by the place she 
was conscious of a strange tendency to shiver. 

With more defined apprehension, she noticed that the 
former brightness of the starlight had gradually diminished. 
The growing dimness was explained when she looked up to 
one quarter of the sky. There on murky heights were 
piling massive heaps of clouds, full of a lurid, hard light, 
as if they were the hot sand of a desert blown up in 
columns by a simoon. Unknown to her, these had been 
advancing steadily until they shut out half of the field of 
stars. The foliage along the street had hitherto hidden the 
rising assemblage from her, and the vapory hosts had 
marched surely and swiftly, with the stillness of disciplined 
troops, so that she, like other generals, was not aware of 
their onset, until they were close at hand. Greta was 
startled. Her uneasiness was not allayed when the quiet 
of the street was broken by a knot of villagers who had 
come from adjacent homes out upon the street, and who 
were watching and excitedly pointing at the menacing 
army in the heaven. 

She looked fearfully upon the ascending gloom, but, 
unwilling to disappoint the boy, kept on. And now, the 
celestial artillery rumbled very faintly in the far distance. 
Greta answered it with the flattering hope that the storm- 
king would march off to battle elsewhere. Moreover, the 
rows of live oaks which now sprang up on either side, and 
which, with their festoons of funeral Spanish moss, formed 
one of the most magnificent and impressive avenues she 


400 


THE MADOXN'A OF PASS CHRISTIAK. 


had ever seen, told her that shelter for the evening was 
near. At the end of this way was the primitive church of 
the Africans. 

Greta and Willie entered. Many were there that even- 
ing. Plantation hands and village negroes crowded the 
wooden benches. Women were in coarse calico and chea^ 
sun-bonnets ; the men were in jeans and rough cow-hir).(?, 
shoes or barefoot. There were a few other aristocratic 
white guests ; religious paroxysms were generally expected 
and invariably drew curious white spectators to whom the 
South was novel. Aristocratic Greta was also disposed to 
find polite amusement in the anticipated extravaganzas. 
But as she looked over that untutored throng, on every 
black face she saw such earnestness and humility — as if 
aware of ignorant weakness and seeking divine strength — 
that it subtly overcame the disposition to smile and made 
her serious. 

Shortly something occurred which still less induced ridi- 
cule. The dark congregation had learned certain hymns 
of choirs of a brighter hue, and rich harmonious voices 
began : 

“ Art thou weary; art thou languid; 

Art thou sore distress’d? 

‘ Come to me,’ saith One, ‘ and coming, 

Be at rest . ’ ” 

^'Poor, tired souls!” mused the sympathetic girl. 

Drudging six days in the week, they look forward to this 
happiness. In their weeks of toil and dullness these meet- 
ings are the only brightness. They come to One whom 
they believe can give them rest, — the only rest such as 





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BHa ‘*^*-*-*y*'-‘f^'ti*nw* 


^ BKxSScv’iSwBtLr^K^^Q^I 


MiI[MS^*9 







THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 


401 


they can hope for.” The polite sneer at their illiterate 
fervor had gone to the lake which burneth with fire and 
brimstone. 

“ Is there diadem, as Monarch, 

That His brow adorns? 

Yea, a crown, in very surety. 

But of thorns.” 

Sung by voices of peculiar and melancholy sweetness, 
in tones which expressed how their earthly hardship longed 
after heavenly hope, these words flowed through the church 
and wandered pathetically out into the night, as if seeking 
their answer from its unseen depths. Through the win- 
dows Greta could see the haggard live oaks, in beggar gar- 
ments of tattered moss, nodding their hoary heads to one 
another and twisting their arms around. These old and 
crafty wizards were very full of hate and mischief, and 
they snapped their fingers in the outer darkness, and 
wickedly tempted her to leave the blessed influence then 
stealing over her. But she stayed. Then she heard: 

“ If I ask Him to receive me, 

Will He say me nay? 

Not till earth, and not till Heaven 
Pass away.” 

Greta always afterwards dated her conversion from that 
night. Her icy, deadened soul, frozen by long belief in 
unbelief • taught by Meeks' infidel jeers, had been thawing, 
imperceptibly, under Warren's gentle explanations of the 
reasonableness and logic of the Christian religion. But, 
oh! how much more had her woman's heart softened when 
she saw how far in the future her dark, dreary, solitary. 


402 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


hopeless path must diverge from his, unless, in spirit and 
in eternity, the two paths became one! 

“If I ask Him to receive me, 

Will He say me nay? ” 

Momentary tears shown in her wistful eyes when she 
heard the answer. 

By and by the preacher rose and read his text: — 

As he journeyed, he came from Damascus, and sud- 
denly there shined about him a light from heaven, and he 
fell to the earth, trembling and astonished, and said, ‘Who 
art thou. Lord? ^ And the Lord said, ‘I am Jesus, whom 
thuu persecutest.’ 

“ My dear friends,” said the minister — a graduate of 
Wilberforce University — “lam afraid some of you here 
to-night are persecuting the Lord Jesus. He tells you He 
has a happy home prepared for you in His Father’s place, 
where the many mansions are. Your lives tell Him that 
His words are not true; that He is a liar; and so insulting 
Him, and hurting His feelings, you persecute Him. 

“When a boy goes to college his father says, ‘John, 
deny yourself; take up your cross; study; be a faithful 
apprentice, and you will enable yourself to achieve great- 
ness. But if you neglect study, get drunk and sin, 
you will go to the bad .’ Jesus tells you, ‘ Children, follow 
me; root out evil desires and weed the gardens of your 
souls for the life beyond the grave.’ 

“All you poor, disgraced, sorrowing ones, don’t try 
to brace up by going on a tear, nabbing your white friends’ 


THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 


403 


chickens, and ministering to the lust of the flesh. Beasts 
of prey like such, but it draws the spirit’s life until that is 
dead. 

0, there’s many a light shined from Heaven for you 
poor creatures here below! Which way did the fugitive 
slave turn when he fled? Why, to the Pole Star, of course. 
Right through the wilderness and swamp and bayous he 
pushed, guided by the polar bear — star. Why, you can 
go almost anywhere by the stars. Yes. You can go even 
to New York by the stars! Then there’s Venus, my 
friends; she’s a beautiful star, but she shines with a bor- 
rowed light. She can’t have the honor to-night; she did 
not spring from the loins of Jacob. Nor Jupiter! They 
are not constabulated angelics! ’’ 

(It is customary in writing works of Action, for the 
author occasionally to state things as facts which are not 
strictly true. Like the deceiving youth who cried Wolf! 
Wolf!” when there was no wolf, his veracity comes to be 
doubted when the real wolf appears. It has already been 
alleged that this work is rather a history than a fairy 
myth, but, whether that be credited or no, the historian 
desires to afflrm, with as binding and horrible an oath as 
was ever taken by a Crusader over a genuine relic, that the 
sermon here reported actually took place. The Greta who 
heard it still lives in Chicago, and if any rude unbeliever 
will go to Pass Christian he will see the self-same church 
there, still standing.) 

The first premonition which Greta had that the stately, 
plausible opening cf the sermon was not to be strictly 


404 


THE MADONN^A OF PASS CHRISTIAJS^. 


adhered to in style until the peroration, was the minister's 
beginning to talk very rapidly, tucing his voice to a very 
high pitch, and, above all, his manner of using his handker- 
chief. He would fling that at one ear— as if either brush- 
ing off a fly or fanning himself; then over the left shoulder, 
then over the right 

^'In flirtation,” said a whisper just behind her, that 
means follow me.” Greta turned and saw the black eyes 
and heard the smothered laugh of — Mrs. Eibold. This 
lady seemed to be very well informed in the science of 
which she spoke, for the various gestures of the minister 
were interpreted, one by one, to the gentleman who 
attended her, — whom she was kindly instructing. 

Desirous of getting acquainted . . . I’m married . . . 
Is that your wife? . . . Meet me around the corner . . . 
Come when my husband isn’t at home.” 

I’m thought a great deal of in Thibodeaux, the place 
where I came from,” continued the minister, who was on a 
circuit. They think a great deal of me. Yes. They 
worship me. They call me the black Jesus. Still, I am 
not self-opinionated. I told them that if Jesus was as 
black as me, he must be a pretty black man.” 

Here the coal-black idol lifted his flying handkerchief 
to his mouth, and held it there — a common fashion with 
him — while he roared through it: — 

God is a wonderful God. He is a mighty God. He 
can tell just how many pounds he put in Mount Washing- 
ton, before he sot her down in the Blue Ridge, and just 
how many pints there were in the Atlantic Ocean. 


THE ENCHANTED FOEEST. 


406 


People miss their fire sometimes because they don’t 
persevere enough. When you come to a mountain or a hill, 
don’t walk around it; climb over it! Don’t walk around the 
sandy plains of life, for you may take your feet out of the 
sand only to put them in the mud. Don’t cover up your 
light with — some folks calls it a bushel, but I don’t. I 
calls it a half-peck measure! 

Once I saw an old man sitting down with a lamp 
beside him, and I saw he was blind and couldn’t see. So 1 
said to him: ‘What do you burn that lamp for when 
you’re blind and can’t see?’ And said he, ‘I’m keeping 
my light a-burning so other people won’t stumble over 
me.’ 

“ Now, that man was wise, and I say to you all, if you 
want to get the good of your own light, keep it burning, 
and don’t cover it with a half-peck measure, so that peo- 
ple won’t stumble over you.” 

He paused and looked toward the windows, where the 
lightning flared now and then more vividly, while louder 
thunder rolled. 

“Guess we’re going to have a storm,” he resumed. 
“Well, this world is one great irrigation, and God is a 
great irrigator. Our Lord is the object of wonder— like a 
light. He is the pattern of constancy,— He is the bright 
and morning star, — the Image of Brightness. He is 
our pole star and will guide us all the way from Pass Chris- 
tian to glory; yes, all the long, long way. For he is a source 
of guidance, — deeper than the sea, and more unfathom- 
able than the mountain tops. 


406 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Oh ! I pray that Almighty Brightness will shine about 
you all to-night a light — like St. PauTs. What pays us for 
the trouble of living here? Riches? Riches fly away. The 
belly? Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging. It is 
rest — rest for the tired poor man, rest for the anxious, 
heartsick, mourning rich man. Believe in that rest. 

‘^YoudonT see the country beyond the ocean? But 
it’s there. There's another wide ocean, full of waves and 
dangers and storms and tempests; like the Atlantic before 
the roving Italian first crossed it, no one comes back to 
tell us what is beyond. But Columbus saw the sky curv- 
ing, and knew that to match his world, the wide western 
sea must be crossable — land somewhere, perhaps not before 
he got to India. So we all know that beyond the wide 
ocean of Time, another further shore will be found under 
the curving, curving sky to match the curves here, the 
ups and downs, the hard times of you poor children. 

‘"Oh! There’s land beyond the sea of life. Sail your 
ships true, get your compass trimmed, or you will rush on 
rocks and go down like the beasts which perish. The devils 
believe and tremble. You may see them to-night. See 
that lightning? God made that. He shoots that light 
from Heaven around you, telling you, ‘ Sinner come! ’ If 
he would let that lightning hit you, you would die, sinner, 
in unbelief! Fools say: ^ We see nothing, therefore, noth- 
ing is there; we see no Heaven, therefore there is none.’ 

Jesus stands at the door and raps. Hear friends, 
let him in to your hearts this night. He pounds in the 
thunder. He knocks some on the head with lightning. 


THE EJSrCHAKTED FOREST. 


407 


and shows, by such illuminations, his power in striking 
others, and his love in not striking you. When you go 
out into God^s fiery light to-night, try to see Him, won’t 
you? He will give you a vision of the other world and 
shine about you a heavenly sight if you have faith in him.” 

The preacher’s voice rang with sincerity, and Greta, 
forgetting his eccentricities of gesture and phraseology and 
occasional vanity, closed her eyes in prayer. Would that 
her soul might be filled with heavenly rays! When she 
opened them the congregation were mingling their rich, 
African, tropical voices in swelling harmony. 

‘^It is a verse of the very same hymn which I heard 
with Mr. Warren last Sunday at Trinity,” she said to her- 
self, and at the coincidence her thoughts grew more 
tender than ever towards her humble co- worshipers: — 

“ O. Jesus, Thou art pleading, 
fn accents meek and low, 

‘ 1 died for you, my children, 

And will ye treat me so? ’ 

O Lord, with shame and sorrow 
We open now the door ; 

Dear Saviour, enter, enter. 

And leave us nevermore." 

As the raven singers uttered ^'Nevermore,” a white, 
preternatural flash of chain-lightning burst from the sky 
just overhead, an instantaneous crash of awful thunder 
rent the quivering church as if the earth beneath it had 
quaked; a blinding, zigzag blue shaft of light pierced the 
ceiling immediately over the pulpit, ran searchingly around 
the wall and darted to the floor near Greta’s seat, while 
fire broke out in the rafters above. The church was 
struck ! 


408 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


For one palsied moment the deafened congregation sat 
still, — shocked dumb and motionless; not a hand or foot 
was stirred, not a breath was drawn . Then, with one 
wild, disorderly scream, like that appalling cry which 
Pharoah’s Africans once made at midnight, the negroes 
sprang to their feet and rushed towards the door. Greta 
had risen also; she clasped the hand of her child com- 
panion, and by one of the miracles of that God who heeds 
even a sparrow when it falls, escaped outside, unhurt. 
The insane riot of human turbulence was left behind her, 
but only to fly into the insane pandemonium of the furies 
of the storm, which shrieked in the outer darkness. 

The rain was now falling; the live oak wizards were 
dancing and tearing their long tresses of mossy hair, and 
the frantic pines rocked and screeched with madmen^s 
enthusiasm. Dazzled, bewildered, stunned with fear and 
stricken with panic, her permanent thoughts circling about 
a certain gilded dome far in the North, and her transitory 
ideas blown to the four winds — Greta, with the speechless 
boy clinging to her, lost her way. She ran as though she 
were never to stop; ran as though the day of wrath were 
fnlly come, trying to flee from the unescapable elements, 
anywhere, though out of the world, almost wishing and 
crying that rocks and mountains might fall on her and hide 
her, — until, at last, the maze of trees grew denser, and her 
senses, rejoining her, told her that she was lost in some 
great forest. Surrounded in one instant by glaring light 
as from a white-hot furnace suddenly opened, and the 
next by inky darkness, they still pressed onward until they 


THE ENCHANTED FOEEST. 


409 


came upon a wood-cutter’s road, which seemed to lead 
indefinitely towards the Mexican Gulf. But the ain then 
poured down in floods, and the two crept under a low 
beech near by until it should slacken. 

Would the thundering never stop? thought Greta. What 
was doing that night, pray, that it should roll so persistently 
deep and loud — as if some great and awful king of the air 
were calling for vengeance on a wicked criminal below? 
There was a vast cloud-palace in the sky, and its myriad 
halls and temples were each instant illuminated with flercer 
and more dazzling tapers. The two children und er the beech 
looked with each flash, darting their glances as quickly as 
the lightning’s gleam, at mailtitudes which they would 
not have discovered at noon in a much longer period of 
time; vistas opening into the innermost recesses of the 
wood, aisles, cloisters, dismantled ruins; arcades at first 
leading towards the heart of the forest, but tangling and 
rustling into a deep twining mystery of writhing boughs, 
trembling leaves, gnarling trunks and twisting vines, and 
here and there amongst their snaky life the dead body 
of an old tree lying stark on the ground, with its bark- 
stripped limbs in the electric glow, cqrpse-like in pallor. 

In an instant this beautiful confusion was flushed with 
red, then yellow, and in a vivid atom of time all was clear, 
plain, transparent gold; then universal blue flickered and 
trembled with a brightening so intense that Greta almost 
believed that the blue sky had fallen around her, accom- 
panied by an exploding blue sun. For the moment the 


410 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


glare was such that nothing could be seen but fire; then 
fell the deepest and profoundest blackness. 

The words of the negro preacher re-appeared in Greta^s 
mind: 

‘^0 Father/' she prayed, in a whisper so low that 
none but God could hear, Thou, who made the lightning 
and the universe, and who can do all things, dispel my 
latent, lingering unbelief; shine about me a heavenly 
view and give my faith a glimpse of that further, unseen 
shore that lies beyond the wide, wide ocean before me. 
Amen." 

. She opened her eyes. Instead of a whirlwind of glory, 
there occurred a sudden, strange lull in the storm. In 
the momentary calm she heard a sound that made her 
hold her breath: a queer thunder-bolt, like the report 
of a pistol ! Was it the still, small voice of the God 
of the thunder? No huntsman of bird or beast would 
be abroad and gunning at such an hour. But its mono- 
syllable had been spoken, and all was noiseless again and 
normal. For a minute or two the lightning, thunder and 
rain stopped or were unnoticeable, and for a minute the 
shrieking wind held its breath. Then, horror! — through the 
wood came swiftly, swiftly, a veiled lady — creeping or glid- 
ing like a panther. Greta cowered, if possible, more deeply 
into the shadow. The figure's garments hung limp like 
a shroud, and the veil covered lier head like a winding 
sheet over the face of the dead. The apparition brushed 
on into the wood-cutter's lane and disappeared. 


THE ENCHANTED FOREST. 


411 


“Mith Greta/" asked Willie, ‘"itii that a ghoLht from 
the other world — like the darkey preacher thaid?"" 

Before she could reply there came leaping out of the 
bushes and overhanging low boughs not one rod away 
from her, panting and tearing through the thicket from 
the direction of the singular thunder, with livid face, 
starting eyes, and his lips drawn back from his teeth, — the 
lover, Meeks! His horrible face appeared to bear a newly 
branded curse; such a hideous expression of hate and evil 
she had never before seen pictured on the mien of a mere 
mortal not yet among the damned. 

Meeks, she thought she knew, was not at Pass Ch^’is- 
tian. Therefore this was the asked-for revelation from 
Heaven, a picture of the world of torment, a forecast of 
Meeks in perdition, and a lesson to her! She had prayed, 
and God had taken her at her word . He could do it, and 
he did. 

Yes, Willie,"" she answered, ^^it is."" 

From that moment Greta was a believer. She re- 
mained so even after she had concluded, in cooler moments, 
that some long, black streak of misty rain, combined with 
her excited imagination, had caused a diabolical hallucina- 
tion, which suddenly arose before her uncertain eyes and 
as rapidly vanished. 

She remained in the faith, even after she had learned — 
long subsequently — that the ghastly revellers were 
not unreal phantoms. For then she knew it was no 
curious optical illusion, but indeed and in truth a vision 
of the torment of the wicked, shown to her at a terrible 


41 ;^ 


THE ilADOJfNA OF PASS CIIJIISTTA X. 


moment, by the Disposer of all human events and the lov- 
ing Sculptor of her human life. 


The storm, departing, thundered gloomily and mourn- 
fully in the distance. Milder and jnore harmless light- 
ning guided the two children from under the beech, by 
the woody lane, over the true road, to the hotel, where 
Willie'’s parents were found well-nigh distracted with 
anxiety, while Mrs. Lind, taught by previous extraordinary 
experience, maintained with perfect tranquillity that Greta 
would turn up all right. When at length Greta did turn 
up, however, she said that she had never had such a time 
in all her life, and that, in excitement, Chicago was just 
nothing to Pass Christian. So, early on the forenoon of 
the following day, without further adventure, but in order 
that they might have comparative quiet, they set out for 
Chicago. 

Only one person was touched by the lightning which 
struck the African church. This one, an aristocratic 
lady from the North, was killed. Her feet happened to 
rest on the iron base of a stove kept in the church for use 
in chilly weather; its tall stove-pipe fatally guided the 
wandering electricity after it had penetrated the ceiling 
and sought a metallic conductor. That light which came 
from above at the close of the hymn to the Saviour, entered 
one beautiful scoffer and left her nevermore. Her 
name was Mrs. Ribold. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


CONCLUSION OF THE HONEYMOON 

By the timely and accurate aim of Mr. Smith’s revol- 
ver, the faithful attendant of that bridegroom had been 
summarily dismissed from waiting further upon him or 
his bride, or upon any others so circumstanced, in this 
present world. The dismissal had occurred with little 
ceremony, while their servitor, John, had been quietly 
standing under a tree for protection from the disagreeable 
rain, and, as it had been rather irregular in form, to avoid 
unfriendly criticism and unflattering comment, they left 
John Brown’s body to moulder where it fell, and fled into 
other depths of the forest. This seemed to eliminate the 
danger of being seen and detected by any chance wayfarer 
who, by a remote possibility, might have heard the shot, 
and been curious enough to inquire into its cause. They 
deserved all praise for the skill, prudent calculation and 
foresight with which they had chosen their ground. Mur- 
der has its little drawbacks and objections at all times, and 
any other plan than the one which they had adopted for 
disposing of Mr. Brown, would have been liable to uncer- 
tain interruptions and dangers and contingencies which, to 
use tlie Counsellor-at-law’s expression, ‘^no poker sharp 
would bet on.” 

The tigress and the serpent roamed the forest after the 

413 


414 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


manner of other wild beasts until about two o^clock in the 
morning. Then they returned, cautiously, to the vicinity 
of their prey, and, creeping stealthily, found it all alone, just 
as it had fallen, still unknown to any besides themselves. 

Let us carry the body to some thicket and bury it 
with leaves and brush, said the gentleman . 

Ugh!^^ said the lady, ^^and make tracks? And leave 
lost handkerchiefs and torn shreds of garments on these 
blackberry bushes? Let him alone, the buzzards will 
carry him away for us to-morrow.'’^ 

Upon this course, therefore, they amiably agreed, and 
bade a final adieu to the person whom they had taught, by 
a lesson which he would never unlearn, that, although two 
are often pleasant company, three are as frequently an 
embarrassing crowd. 

They had a certain feeling of satisfaction over the 
accomplishment of their design. There was indeed a 
dread lingering about the beech where the man was 
lying, and as they turned their faces homeward another 
vague apprehension came out to meet them from within 
their locked-up rooms at the cottage. AVhat if the people 
there had rapped at the door by accident? What if the 
house had caught fire? They began to doubt whether they 
would find the house there at all on their return, rather 
expecting in their inmost hearts the sheriff with fetters, 
the death-warrant, and the gallows all ready. Yet they 
had been too anxious to extricate themselves from the 
detective^s toils, not to be glad of their escape at last from 
the slaughtered peril back of them. 


COifCLUSIOJs^ OF THE HONEYMOOH. 


415 


They hurried across the open stretch of country where 
the railroad ran, and stole in and out of many by-ways 
near their course, before approaching the cottage. When 
they finally came out from an alley upon the main street, 
they put on a bold front and walked to the Yale residence, 
which lay black as a funeral pile. No fire had yet been 
lighted there, and the lurking fear in their room was uncon- 
sumed. They opened the front gate noiselessly and softly 
walked over the grass to their side of the house. Every- 
thing seemed still and calm. They went on tiptoe across the 
verandah, and Meeks tremblingly unlocked the door. He 
hesitated a minute before pushing it open, as if some hor- 
rible bloody sight was about to shock them. But his com- 
panion's eyes, whose yellow light before had been like 
the glow from a jaguar’s in the dark, looked at him — 
now that it was done — rather like two guiding stars. 
Griancing at each other and encouraged by the mutual 
gaze they went in together. At first, in answer to a 
breathless look of inquiry, the dumb furniture seemed to 
say, by tacit signs, that all was as they had left it. 

All? 

What an icy chill ran through him, when Meeks went 
to the inner door — the one leading to the inside hall — and 
found what he had so carefully locked and screened, 
unlocked and the key gone! 

No ordinary event could have induced Mrs. Vale and 
others to break open their room in violation of their most 
careful directions not to be disturbed. In their trepida- 
tion, the murderers at first were for immediate flight. 


416 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

But where? They could not possibly escape from Pass 
Christian by train before four o^clock, and at that hour 
they would be looked for; if they walked to the country 
all towns in the circle enclosing them would be notified by 
telegraph, and in a very short time they would be run 
down. If intelligence of the murder, moreover, had 
caused the breaking into their room, flight, betraying 
their apprehension of danger, and referrible only to their 
knowledge of the crime, would link the other circum- 
stances into a complete chain of evidence of their guilt. 

In the midst of this agony of doubt, suspense and ter- 
ror, Mrs. Eakeless^ ready wit suggested that, after all, 
probably some roving servant, uninformed of Meeks^ com- 
mands, had gone into their room to supply it with toilet 
articles; and, having chanced to enter from the outside 
verandah door, had locked that, of course, as against 
intruders, and had passed out through the inner hall door, 
carelessly taking the key with her, as brainless servants do. 
Furthermore, she urged, it was utterly impossible that the 
murder should have been discovered, traced down to them, 
and yet with the body left uncared-for as they knew it 
was. This solution seemed so plausible, that both softly 
laughed at their fright and lay down to rest. 

Punctually at four o^clock there was a loud knocking 
at the door. 

Yes?” drawled Meeks, imitating the tone of one who 
is just waked. 

‘^I want to see you at the door, sir!^^ responded a clear 


voice. 








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CO^rCLUSION- OF THE HONEYMOON. 


417 


Anotlier cold shiver. The dues for their board and 
lodging had been paid in advance, and all arrangements 
had been made for leaving quickly on being called. The 
two were not to breakfast at the cottage, but were to hurry 
at once to the train. In the ordinary course of events, no 
further communication was to be made between them and 
their host. Having expected to be awakened only, and 
then left alone, this summons was startling, and Meeks 
did not fail to mark the imperative tone in which it was 
uttered. 

After allowing such time to elapse as would be suffi- 
cient to dress, if his clothes had been off, and rumpling 
his hair — which was not a little disordered already — Meeks 
stepped to the door and opened it. 

What is it?^^ he asked. 

You left your room last night, sir, after saying so 
particularly that you did not want to be disturbed,’^ said 
Mrs. Vale — for it was only she. 

But she seemed to be under some restraint, and Meeks 
observed that she backed away from him a little, when he 
appeared at the door, and stood at the other side of the 
corridor. 

^^My sister was quite nervous, he answered, ‘^and 
later in the evening wished me to take her out walking.” 

^^And you were out precious late too, sir,” she observed. 

^^The rain overtook us and we sought shelter in a 
deserted shed.” 

^^But the rain was all over at eleven, and we waited 
till nigh one o^clock, sir.” 


418 


THE MADON^HA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


‘^Sister was chilled and fatigued and so sick she 
couldn^t walk. But I don^t know why I answer your 
interrogatories, madam. What do you mean? Who 
waited?” 

Your sister^s husband, — Mr. Kakeless.” 

The brother turned the color of the man lying out 
under the beech tree. Terror for what might be coming 
next palsied his tongue, but in the dark Mrs. Vale could 
not see his sudden lividness. 

You ask why, too,” the lady went on. A stranger 
came here last night after we had returned from church. 
He said that his wife was running away from him with 
another man, and that she was hidden here. He was 
almost distracted. Although he loved her very much, 
she had cruelly harassed him with sham suits for sepa- 
ration, and forced him to hire a detective to make him 
aware of her movements. From Mobile the detective 
had telegraphed him at New Orleans that she was coming 
here with her paramour. Intending, if possible, to effect 
a reconciliation and condone her wronging him if she would 
return and be a good woman, he determined to seek her 
here. Yesterday afternoon he arrived from New Orleans. 
His agent advised him to wait before seeing you until 
after church was over, — when he would find us in. We 
couldn’t have you sleeping in a respectable house under 
such an accusation, knocked at your room without get- 
ting an answer, and then unlocked it from outside, to 
find you gone. Well, that looked bad, — after what you 
said. When we told him that you intended to leave 


COIfCLUSlOX OF THE HOJhEIMOOK. 


419 


early in the morning, and that he might never see his 
dear wife again, the poor man broke down and cried like 
a child. He owned that it was unmanly to do that, but 
then he had loved his wife ever since she was a little, 
innocent child, and it just broke his heart to see her 
going thus; and he couldn^t help it. 

About ten o^clock he said that he would hunt up 
the detective and bring him here — his only friend and 
acquaintance at the Pass. He went out. They told him 
wliere his man boarded that he hadnT been seen then 
since dusk, and they didnT know what was keeping him^ 
and they thought it very strange, because he had prom- 
ised certainly to meet Mr. Eakeless there at nine o’clock/’ 

Here Mrs. Vale stopped and looked inquiringly at 
Mr. Meeks. Probably that gentleman did not notice her 
indirect question as to the whereabouts of Mr. Rakeless’ 
agent, for, if he had, knowing how strong the passion of 
curiosity is in woman, he would doubtless, in the good- 
ness of his heart, have gratified her. 

‘^Mr. Rakeless came back here, distressed as could be. 
We pitied the forlorn creature and said we’d sit up till 
you come back, so that he wouldn’t miss seeing you both 
before you went, and save his wife from open disgrace 
and ruin. He didn’t want to make a scene at the depot, 
and didn’t believe he could stop her there any way. Well, 
we would have sat up, but when it got along towards 
one o’clock, Mr. Rakeless said he didn’t believe that you 
were coming back at all, and any how, says he, it would 
be too hard on us all to keep us up longer. So he 


420 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


went away. Now won^t you repent and turn over a new 
leaf and go back to tbe husband that loves you, lady? 
And you, sir, the Lamb^s blood has been shed for you; 
lead not this poor wife into temptation; salvation is free. 
He that is athirst of the water of life may drink of it 
freely. 

During this talk Meeks had slid into an easy, reclin- 
ing posture against the doorcase, and watched Mrs. 
Vale with the intentness which a lawyer pays to a wit- 
ness in a case whose importance is vital. As the good 
woman warmed with her sympathy for the unfortunate 
husband and zeal in winning two unhappy wretches to 
the consolations of her religion, Meeks grew cooler and 
cooler. Then he looked at his watch. 

Have you, my dear madam,^^ said he, in a tone of 
mild reproof, with all your experience and ability, so 
little judgment as to insult your guests and break into 
their leased chamber — their own property for the time 
being — on the bare statement of an outside stranger to 
whom you are not — as you are to us — under any obligations? 
How do you know that I am not this lady’s brother, and 
that she may not well be running away from a desperate 
husband, who torments her with detectives, until she is 
nearly insane ? ” 

While Meeks spoke, the eyes of Mrs. Rakeless were 
bent on the ground. If her husband had come only two 
hours earlier, she thought; if it were not for the cursed 
slyness of tbe detective in advising him to put off his 
visit until death and hell bad intervened, bow easy, 


CONCLUSION OF'THE HONEYMOON. 


421 


through the semblance of a ^^reconciliation,” to have 
escaped from the toils around her! Hearing only Meeks’ 
voice, and careless of his words, she interrupted any reply 
Mrs. Vale might have made with her own version: 

Mr. Rakeless is utterly mean and would stoop to any 
means to gain his ends. This gentleman is my lawyer. 
If not a brother he is so exactly like one that I call him 
so. I have been really ill and need the help of a man and 
a lawyer both — on my way. Believe me, Mrs. Vale, you 
very much hurt a lady’s feelings, by being so credulous of 
my brutal husband. I stay in seclusion because of the 
natural modesty of divorce suits. Come, Mr. Meeks, are 
you ready for the train ? ” 

With a haughty toss of the head, this actress — who, 
however, had not spoken her part quite accurately — swept 
out of the room with the manner of a sultana, hurling a 
look of indignation and wronged innocence, leaving Mrs. 
Vale in possession of the field, but doubtful as to the 
justice of her cause. 

She was followed by her legal adviser and male help. 
Mrs.* Vale said no more. 

But, as the two quitted the cottage, their faces changed, 
and smiles of derision gave place to looks that were 
haggard and anxious, — as if these actors were wearied, 
jaded with playing a tedious tragedy. And as they 
skulked through the cold, raw atmosphere of the fugitive 
night, ghastly as spectres issuing from the tomb, what 
thoughts oppressed them! 


CHAPTER XXXIIL 


MISS lind’s engagement is broken. 

There star nor sun shall awaken, 

Nor any change of light, 

Nor sound of waters shaken, 

Nor any sound or sight. 

Nor wintry leaves nor vernal, — 

Only the sleep eternal 
In an eternal night. 

A cheerless morning laid its cold hands on Mrs. Valets 
two boarders when they reached the street, — blowing around 
them and raining at intervals, with clouds that looked upon 
them sullen and threatening. The storm of the night 
before had left pools of water in yards and on sidewalks, 
and the channels on each -side of the avenue were overflow- 
ing. An ashy glimmering in the sky told of the coming 
day, but this faint light only made the village lamps pale, 
without warming or brightening the wet buildings, and 
dreary streets, — thus even intensifying the gloom. The 
windows of the houses were all closely shut; nobody stirred 
as yet, and, as they passed on their way, they saw that the 
dull streets were cold and empty, and that the unwilling 
lamps lingered and shivered all alone in the shaking wind. 

But they spoke not a word, trudging on doggedly, and 
with a hard carelessness in their set faces. The hate, the 
long excitement accumulating into the night now past, the 
courage of killing, heretofore so buoyant and nerving, — lay 

423 


MISS LINDAS EKGAGEMEjST IS BROKEN. 


423 


dead now under a beech tree, and there were left only the 
passionless, blank, dis-enspirited bodies which the expired 
passion had animated, and which were as sober and chill as 
those second thoughts which come to us on awakening in 
the morning. 

As they left the town behind them and plunged into 
the darkness upon the solitary field between that and the 
depot, an awe crept upon them which they had never before 
experienced, different from mere apprehension of capture. 
Not that they were not afraid of arrest: every vague object, 
every uncertain shadow — still or moving, — made them shud- 
der, and when they considered what might meet them at 
the depot, they hardly dared to advance another step. But 
they thought most of the figure which had been lying stiff 
and ghastly in the woods: it had risen now and chased 
them from afar. It rose from the gloom behind them and 
soon took its old place at their heels. The image, though 
with a gory hole in its head, was as sneakingly observant 
as ever, and they knew that they were haunted still. 
Their crime was vain; they could not rid themselves of this 
solemn watcher. Mortal arms could not kill the wan pur- 
suer which chased them now. If they hastened, it closed 
in on them; if they turned to face it, it slunk away; and 
always it kept fixed on them the same glassy stare as when, 
lying on the grass last night, its open eyes had looked up 
to the lightning of Heaven. 

At the depot they found nothing to excite their alarm. 
They attracted no attention and nothing unusual occurred. 
The sleepy official who sold them their tickets barely 


424 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


noticed them. The only other traveler was a countryman 
who bought a ticket to Bay St. Louis, and afterwards — 
they watched him feverishly — got off there, his mind 
apparently concerned as little with them as with the last 
epidemic of Yellow Fever.' The train was on time — the 
“Fast Line;^^ its watching, yellow eye came gliding up 
with a screech and a clang, followed by a retinue of skating 
shadows, and the whole procession eagerly and tumultu- 
ously ran away with them in a rushing torment of fire and 
smoke, but safely and without human let or hindrance, 
towards New Orleans. 

What should they do? 

Murder has been considered as a Fine Art. So far as 
design went, the work just concluded by these two artists 
was irreproachable. Their execution was also excellent. 
They had taken the diamond ring and the purse, so that 
the crime might be attributed to some robbing tramp; the 
tell-tale memorandum book had been removed and with it 
the evidence which would betray another motive than that 
of robbery; they had decoyed their victim into an infre- 
quented wood, where his body could not be found easily or 
soon, and, as Mrs. Rakeless suggested, their friends, the 
buzzards, would help them out with the rest. The chance 
of discovery, and the danger that the subject of their 
solicitude would discontinue his observations and remove 
himself beyond their reach, — had menaced their removal 
of him in any other locality than Pass Christian. Their 
master-piece, as a work of Fine Art, was thus like beauti- 
ful but fragile Dresden ware, and just as they had placed 


MISS lind’s engagement is broken. 


425 


it in their well-chosen China shop, in had entered the 
bull — Mr. Rakeless. As usual, the unforeseen, the most 
unlikely and the entirely unlooked-for was just what had 
happened. 

• 'rheir elaborate plans were broken like china now. 
Chaos was before them, and chaos only. 

^^0, whaCs the difference, goat?^'’ said Mrs. Rakeless, 
laying her voluptuous form back upon her reclining car 
chair, and smiling seductively on her paramour. It 
will all be the same in the millenium one thousand years 
from now. Let^s go on a tear in New Orleans and then go 
to Europe.” Human anxiety had little place in the breast 
of this siren. ^ 

Meeks made no reply, but he thought of Tannhauser: 

“Come, to my chamber let us go; 

Our love shall be secret there, 

And thy gloomy thoughts shall vanish at sight 
Of my lily-white body fair.” 

“ Dame Venus, loveliest of dames, 

Q Farewell, my life, my bride; 

Oh! give me leave to part from thee. 

No longer may I bide.” 

“ Have I not poured the sweetest wine 
Daily for thee, my spouse? 

And have I not with roses, dear. 

Each day en wreathed tjiy brows? ” 

“ Dame Venus, loveliest of dames, 

My soul is sick, I swear. 

Of kisses, roses, and sweet wine. 

And craveth bitter fare. 

“We have laughed and jested far too much. 

And I yearn for tears this morn; 

Would that my head no rose- Wreath wore, 

But a crown of sharpest thorn.” 


426 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


And at New Orleans they separated — to baffle pursuit. 
On the forenoon of their arrival a steamer sailed from that 
port for Europe, and among its passengers was one so fair 
and graceful and Venus-like, that she too might well have 
sprung from the foam of the sea. At their setting out, 
an absent, haunted look was observed in her eyes, but it 
faded like a cloud over the horizon when the dark coast 
line sunk out of sight, and she lived thereafter for 
pleasure . 

Meanwhile, her last companion was going towards the 
North by the Queen and Crescent Route. At nine o’clock 
that night, travel-worn and weary, he alighted from the 
train at Birmingham, Ala. Ploddyig along the busy 
streets of that city of strangers, he crept into an obscure 
boarding-house whose advertisement he had read in a local 
paper. He went to his room at once, saying to the land- 
lady that he was all tired out by a long journey from 
San Francisco, and in a solitary upper chamber he found 
himself, for the first time since the murder, alone. 

Overcome with fatigue, he dropped upon the bed and 
sunk into a species of stupor. But his sleep — if such it 
could be called — was uneasy and broken, and in the early 
morning hours he awoke, to learn the growing horror of 
being alone. His compassionate accomplice — where out 
on the starry deep was she now? And was she thinking 
of him? 

Good-bye, Isabelle,” he had said, until we meet 
again.” 

Until we meet again! 


MISS lind's engagement is broken. 


427 


Very soon, however, his thoughts from the ocean so 
far away, like ravens flew home and alighted — on the Bir- 
mingham morning papers. What if the latter should con- 
tain the first news of the murder and add that suspicion or 
certainty pointed to him, — whom they perfectly described. 
What if they notified everybody and the public that 
through ticket agents, conductors and brakemen, with 
trained lightning to help, telegrams had traced him 
down to this very city, that it was known he was not at 
any hotel, and that he must be lurking at some obscure 
boarding-house, having arrived the night before! All this 
was possible. 

Uneasy, nervous and perplexed, he arose and in his 
stocking feet softly paced to and fro in his chamber. 
Often he looked wistfully from his window towards the 
eastern sky, hoping to see the first blushing streaks of 
dawn. But pitiless night yet embraced the world and 
him, and the fever of his anxious walk was not abated. 

Two or three more disturbed and suffering hours, and 
then he heard other footsteps besides his own, and windows 
raised and blinds opened, and the murmur of distant voices; 
listening intently, he believed that the low tones were sus- 
•picious, and that the talking was just outside of his door. 
Every new sound made him cower, in the half-belief that it 
was the coming of tbe knocking which should announce 
his doom, and which must come sometime, soon or late. 

The breakfast bell rang. ‘ He would be suspected if 
he hid in his room longer." Since he had risen from his 
bed he had avoided a glimpse of the mirror, fearing to see 


4-28 


THE MAHOHHA OF PASS CHKISTIAN. 


something written on his face that would daunt the flick- 
ering remains of his courage and render him so self-con- 
scious that he could not safely enter the presence of others. 
To accustom himself by degrees, he stealthily opened the 
door of his room and stood there, — listening to the occa- 
sional and indistinct fragments of conversation on the 
lower floor. Then he went down stairs. 

He found in the parlor a circle of boarders reading the 
morning papers with what appeared unusual interest. 
They were seated before a pleasant hearth Are, and cour- 
teously made room for him. But after that they noticed 
him very little — to them only one stranger the more. He 
sat down in a far corner, not daring to see whether they 
scrutinized him, but feeling that they were very still and 
grave. 

His trembling voice would betray him — he believed — if 
he spoke or asked for a newspaper, so he waited develop- 
ments in agitated silence. Presently a man laid down the 
Birmingham Morning Times and went out to the dining- 
hall. Falteringly, he took it up, and, in an excitement 
which did not permit him to breathe, he glanced over the 
dreaded columns. But no sooner had he begun to do so 
than at once his hand began to tremble as if suddenly 
attacked with a most extraordinary flt of ague. The printed 
lines danced an unintelligible jig up and down crazily, 
and some one looked up from their reading at him, as if 
wondering. This revived his power to will, and by a 
supreme effort he controlled himself and read. 

No news at all! 


MISS lind’s engagement is broken. 429 

That is,” he thought, no news as yet. But’ 
to-morrow! Or to-night — the evening paper — that would 
tell it.” 

While breakfasting he considered what he should do. 
If he went out — the police might have been telegraphed 
that very morning to arrest him. Going out on the public 
streets would thus lead at once to his seizure. If, on the 
other hand, he remained in the house, plainly unoccupied 
all the day long, with the fear which he could not alto- 
gether disguise confessing itself on his face, would they 
not gradually suspect him in general, — as some doubtful 
or suspicious character in hiding ? Would not the uneasy 
landlady have him secretly noted by detectives who should 
dress in plain clothes and of whose watch he would be 
ignorant, and thus certainly lead to his capture? One 
more alternative; if he made a successful sally and dashed 
out upon the north-bound train,, was there no danger 
from conductors and brakemen ? He had left the cars to 
avoid the latent peril there and lie by and see what would 
happen; he wanted to lose himself among the host of 
strangers then crowding into Birmingham. But he found 
it difficult to hide either from himself or from an avenging 
God. Backed by suspense and fear he experienced every 
hour far more agony than if he had quietly submitted for 
only a few minutes to be hanged by the neck until he was 
dead. Danger reached out eager hands towards him how- 
ever he turned, and finally he glided out of the house and 
furtively strolled towards the outskirts of Birmingham. 
He noticed that street cars, propelled by steam, went from 


430 


THE MADOXJTA OF PASS CIIRISriAH. 


the city limits to the suburbs and the open country. 
Irresolute and uncertain, but longing for diversion that 
would ease the tension of his mind, he stepped upon one 
of them for a pleasure ride. The seats open to the breeze 
were grateful, and he enjoyed the view of undulating 
fields, hills wooded with pines, and smoky furnaces and 
factories, as well as such as he could enjoy anything. His 
v^anderings brought him at length to a suburban lake, and 
the fashionable Lake View Hotel.'’'’ 

He had come for rest, where rest might well be found. 
Roses and honeysuckles clung to the hotel porticoes, in a 
mass of loveliness of color and fragrance, and he seated 
himself under them with a sigh. In front of him were 
lofty trees which seemed to whisper to each other as they 
looked down upon him ; their trunks were adorned by the 
white-veined leaves of English ivy. Further on, in the slope 
beyond them, were gardens of fiowers, whose perfume was 
faintly wafted to the harassed fugitive. At the foot of the 
slope lay the little clear mirror of water called the Lake,’ 
sleepily reflecting the blue of the sky. 

Green hills and rich woods and the kindly air about the 
place gave it their own soft tranquillity and inspired in him 
a temporary and fragile peace of mind. The pain-worn 
fugitive was somewhat soothed, and its quiet, for a moment, 
sunk deep into his tormented breast. His jaded self 
seemed to enter another, higher being, and the sunny green 
wakened memories within him long since stifled ; some- 
thing of tender childhood, a mother’s love and Bible pict- 
ures rose up from glistening water, hill and plain ; the 


MISS lind’s engagement is broken. 431 

bright face of Nature was sweet and gay and oblivious, but 
something of a dead mother^s face looked on him from 
that deep blue sky, and its smile was sad and tearful. 

Horrible murder, wasn^t it?^^ said a voice at his 
elbow. 

The pallor which had been observable in his face before 
he had sat down to rest, returned, but grayer. He was 
seen to tremble, and in the midst of a dead silence pressed 
a hand over his closed eyes. But in an instant he removed 
it, and turning a ghastly face towards the direction of the 
voice, stammered, faintly : 

* ^ I — have not — read the news yet.” 

‘‘ That^s something of an Irish bull, ain^t it ?” 

It was a free and easy commercial traveler who had 
accosted him. 

I mean the murder that took place right here,” con- 
tinued the latter; wife and two little daughters killed by 
a husband and father, Dick Hawes, and their bodies sunk in 
that pretty little sheet of water down there. Fm a pretty 
good mind-reader and you looked as if you was brooding 
over some murder, and I allowed it was that one.” 

Meeks carefully turned away his face. Under any other 
circumstances he would have resented this vulgar intrusion. 
As it was, he did not dare to show the slightest sign of dis- 
composure or irritation. 

^^How did this Hawes get caught.” he asked, as the 
question nearest his thoughts. 

^‘Well, you see, he did the job so as to marry a girl” 
('‘ like me,” thought his hearer), ‘^overin Columbus, Mis- 


432 THE MADOXKA OE PASS CSRISTIAK", 

sissippi. He got married to her right off after the murder. 
Then the fool come back home here for his wedding trip, 
and was pulled when he got here. He mightnT been 
caught if he hadnT been green enough to go home.^' 

‘‘I will not be similarly green/^ said Meeks — to himself; 
^‘that settles my going to Kansas City.^^ Then he asked 
with an air that he considered the boldness of innocence : 

How soon after the Hawes murder was the criminal 
detected ? 

Twenty-four hours after he sunk their bodies, his 
dead wife and daughters rose up from the bottom of that 
there lake and had him arrested,” was the reply. 

Yawning and stretching himself to give the appearance 
of being bored, Meeks stood up, and, without saying more, 
lounged into the hotel. He entered it for the first time. 
Partly through curiosity, and partly through listlessness, 
he advanced to the office desk and idly looked over the 
names of the arrivals at Lake View. He turned one leaf. 
King Belshazzar’s countenance was not more changed, 
nor his thoughts more troubled, when he saw what the 
fingers of a man’s hand had written on the wall, than was 
Meeks’, when he saw what a woman’s hand had written on 
the Lake View register : — 

^‘Mrs. Mamie Gunn, Yazoo, Miss.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Turtle, St. Louis, Mo.” 

His knees smote one against the other, but there was 
no wise Daniel to show unto him the secondary interpreta- 
tion of the handwriting which told him, though he knew 
it not, that God had numbered his kingdom over this life 


MISS Lind’s engagement is broken. 433 

cinil finished it. He saw nor heard neither one of the three. 
There was no welcoming salute from Mrs. Gunn this time. 
Was it possible that she had heard of the murder ? Did 
.she think that he was susp ecf ed ? In the midst of ominous 
silence, he walked out. 

Down the green slope, by flower gardens, ivy trees, and 
mirror lakes to the flying cars ; back to the outskirts of 
Birmingham, where he left the dummy train and plunged 
intoback ways, lanes and alleys, towards his boarding-house, 
trying to baffle pursuit with turnings and windings, if any 
one should be dogging his steps. 

In the parlor again, — before the cheerful hearth-fire. 
With human beings about him talkingof coal and iron and 
real estate, and coming and going on their healthful occu- 
pations, he, like a corpse among the living, kept listening 
for news of the dead. Whether he took part in their con- 
versation, or said nothing, or counted the swings of a 
pendulum of a tall clock over the chimney-piece, as they 
swung away the seconds of his life, he always slid, back- 
wards, into the treadmill of concerned, solicitous and pain- 
ful listening. Of course, the news — or some news — must 
come at last, sometime, — and he felt that it woulid be a 
relief when the wages of waiting for it were fully paid. 

Evening, and the evening journals. Ho news, — as yet. 

It was dusk. He sat on the little porch before his 
lodging. A row of poplars along the sidewalk in front of 
the house overshadowed the bench on which he sat, and 
he loved their darkness rather than light. The weather 
was windy, blowing in gusts, and the tall, slim trees would 


434 


THE MADOXNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


moan and writhe. As the breeze rose and fell — like the 
calling and invoking of the storm in the forest one black 
night — some indefinite terror — not the fear of human con- 
stables — came upon him with an abrupt shock. It seemed 
that some vague power shot him over a frightful precipice. 
There was a rush of wings, a fierce thrill, an impetuous 
falling, a flight through the air, and a sweeping past of 
some resistless angel of death. He shrunk, to let the 
phantasmal thing go by, and found himself alone on the 
porch, as before, and shivering. 

He anxiously looked up to the sky. The night was dry 
and clear. The calm and quiet stars, so full of peace, 
looked softly down into his hard and restless eyes — so full 
of horror. 

‘^What shall I do 

The stars gave him no answer ; but just then, as though 
it were a faint response, one of dumb earth^s last warn- 
ings, came the mournful strokes of the bell of the court- 
house clock — deep and solemn. For eternity now was not 
far away, and Time, soon to hurl him upon that misty 
ocean beyond which no eye hath seen, flowed on with more 
heavily-rolling waves and with a deeper and darker rush 
as it neared the sea. But he heard not the tumult of the 
swollen waters nor perceived the roar of the coming ocean. 
He only fixed his brute gaze upon lights in upper 
second-story chambers across the street. Children there 
were being put to bed, and he could see their happy little 
white-clad forms and the candles which winked at him 
from their windows. From another house came waltz- 


MISS LINDAS ENGAGEMENT IS BROKEN. 


435 


music and the laughter of dancers and the gay glitter of 
gas chandeliers. He brooded over it all until lights were 
out and dancers and music gone ; and when the houses 
opposite were closed against him, all shut up and gravely 
silent, he had come, at last, to a resolution. 

Cincinnati, New York, Chicago, St. , Louis — all ter- 
minal northern cities, are watched,” thought he. ^^They 
can know that I have gone north somewhere, and must 
soon trace me here. Perhaps even now the police of Bir- 
mingham are secretly searching ’for me. But if I double 
on my tracks, fox-like, won’t that put them off the scent? 
They’ll never think of looking for me south when they 
know I’ve gone north. I’ll sneak into Pass Christian at 
night, see what is up, and then to New Orleans, and to 
Europe after Isabelle.” 

Isabelle? Good-bye, — until I see you again ! ” 

There was an impressive meaning in those words which 
their speaker little guessed. As he thought of her, again 
the poplars bent and sighed ; again the shudder in the 
air, and again the shadow of death came flying. 

With an undeflned horror upon him, he at once gave 
up his room, not daring to stay there one moment longer. 
Wandering, houseless and alone, into the open country, 
he began a weary walk along a road which led south, guid- 
ing himself by the stars and by occasional glimpses of the 
railroad, but cautiously speaking to no one. The glare of 
red furnaces lighted up his way like occasional lanterns; 
he could see the coal and iron workers warming themselves 
in the comfortable heat— while he was out where the raw 


436 


THE MADONKA OP PASS CHRISTIAK. 


wind was whistling and wailing. He passed through 
Magella, Grace’s and Oxmoor, little villages on the line of 
the Louisville and Nashville railroad. Morning began to 
dawn as he approached Helena, and then he crept off the 
road into a copse of pines and maples, lay down on their 
dry leaves and, slept. 

For he believed that by this device he had broken com- 
munication with any possible tracers, and that he had 
covered his tracks at least from Birmingham on. He had 
taken an unlikely course, indeed, and there was little 
wonder that no one molested him when, about five o’clock 
in the following afternoon, at Helena, he boarded the train 
for the South. 

He found, from the very outset, that further journey 
was tiresome and tasteless. Coming north, excitement, 
like a strong drink, had buoyed him, but that draught 
now, like other stimulants too often repeated, had lost 
much of its strength. The clatter and hurry of the train, 
its discord and tumult and agitation, found all echo from 
within the escaping one, and the outer distraction and 
confounding was mirrored by his dusky and perplexed 
mind. Landscapes roving by were swallowed up in one 
another, and flitted past, confused, dim, faded, lost and 
gone. Views of changing fields and woods dissolved into 
scrambling houses, driving fences, speeding barns and 
tramping, solitary wanderers like himself ; beyond this 
fleeing foreground moved the lowering waste that seemed 
the reflection of his waste of life ; beyond the chasing, 
varying shapes that appeared and vanished was the spread- 


MISS lind’s engagement is broken. 


437 


ing background of blackness and murder, with here and 
there a lurid tinge, as if the red flames of Arson were still 
burning. Sometimes there was a sigh of forest wind — 
like despair ; and then through his fancy came the flight 
of gloom from Pass Christianas enchanted forest — the 
rush, chill and solemn, of black wings sweeping, and a 
flying, sombre image, and the passing of the shadow. 

A fear of being met by some one he knew, or arrested 
on the way before he had run the gauntlet through Pass 
Christian, began now to weigh upon him heavily. It 
oppressed him as he started in the afternoon, and it 
returned at night with tenfold dejection. He looked fur- 
tively into the faces of the neighboring passengers; but all 
was strange and unfamiliar, save the monotonous clank of 
the train, the noisy jangling of bells, and the affrighted 
shrill cries of whistles, together with an equally monoto- 
nous clanging of a train of wicked love, greed, hate and 
passion, hurrying the wheels of torment round and round, 
and always pulling him onward. Cheerless pine-barrens, 
desolate cotton plantations, smutty mining towns, bare 
house tops, black church towers and indistinguishable 
plains stretched away to a horizon, deceptive as the mirage 
lakes of the desert, always withdrawing and never reached. 
His journey and his life gradually mixed disorderly into 
one disturbed compound : the present and the past joined in 
one delirium: the ringing ahead seemed that of fire bells, 
and the shrieks were those of falling walls and murdered 
men; old scenes rose trembling from among the woods 
through which he darted, alternating with shuddering 


438 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


brooding over more recent sights. Unaware of actual sur- 
roundings, yet tired and bewildered by them, their tedious 
images jostled the next realities, and crowded with the 
past again, just after the present had gone. All was an 
ever-changing nightmare, — from town to country and from 
rural districts to cities, hills and valleys drunkenly inter- 
mingling with fugitive roads and pavemerts, starlight and 
darkness, height and hollow, lamplight and gloom, damp- 
ness without and foulness withiu; bleak wildernesses racing 
with gloomy plains, bloody battle-grounds, dismal grave- 
yards; slow, tarnished villages, and shivering clusters of 
negro-cabins; aud through them all, resistless and relent- 
less, with a clanking and a rattling as endless as the clink- 
ing of the fetters of a prisoner for life, with loud and 
louder shrieks as of unseen wretches dragged nearer and 
nearer to execution, unyielding as the chain of fate now 
drawing him inexorably on to doom, hurried the eager, 
screaming Frankenstein whose aid he had evoked; and 
along its smoky track was scattered, as along Death^s som- 
bre way is crumbled, countless forms of dust and ashes. 

Mobile — black and funereal. 

Again the Gulf Coast; then, the villages towards Pass 
Christian, one by one like pall-bearers filing past, all look- 
ing on him cold and deadly. 

‘^Goodbye, Isabelle, until we meet again 

There was another face, far different from that of the 
ocean beauty, which also rose before him just once, on his 
iron way. From out of the darkness she too looked upon 
him now, mournfully, just as he had seen her last, on Sun- 


MISS lind’s engagement is broken. 


439 


day night at church, when her eyes were dewy with tears, 
but it was only a moment; a-nd then the one who had so 
loved him in the past faded away into its desolation. It 
was the last time. He was to see her never again. 

Four o'clock in the morning! 

‘^Pass Christian!" 

Closely wrapped and hidden and muffled in his cloak, 
with a. feeling akin to something like elation at exchang- 
ing the cankering terrors of night and day and the alarms 
of fancy for the spice of whatever there was of real danger, 
almost glad to face and brave it, — he left the train. Dis- 
encumbered of every article, having left his baggage at 
Birmingham, ‘^to be called for," — as he stood on the sta- 
tion platform something white met his eye. It seemed a 
white bill or poster, affixed to the end of the depot building. 
As if an irresistible something drew him towards it, he 
disregarded for a moment the supplication of the hotel 
runners, and read in the dim light the larger type on the 
bill: 


MURDER ! 

FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD ! 


SIMON A. MEEKS 


The calmness of death was upon him, — the coolness of 
a veteran soldier who is daring the fire of the enemy's 
guns. He quietly told the hackmen that, as he had no 
baggage, he should walk to his stopping-place, which, he 
said, was not the hotel, but a remote boarding-house. As 
he turned from them to go, he saw, as though it were the gal- 


440 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


lows looming, the only other passenger who had descended 
from the train, — Mrs. Gunn! 

Then he walked leisurely away, apparently unrecog- 
nized, down the railroad track, — along the path so thickly 
strewn with ashes. 

The air breathed on him comfortless and chill. Past 
and present and future had whirled deliriously and con- 
fusedly around him, but his purpose was steady now. On 
through a dark ravine of pine forest, where the dew was 
heavy, and where, though hot with fever, the chill un- 
earthly damp made him shiver. Out from the pine gorge, 
and out upon the mile-long railroad bridge which leads 
across to the town of Bay St. Louis. Just as he stepped 
upon the end of that unroofed and open trestle, he heard 
behind him on the railroad track, lightly treading on the 
ties and road-bed gravel, the quick steps of a silent body 
of men hastening to overtake him. 

It was all over! The hounds were on his trail, and he 
saw that they must soon run down the fox which had 
doubled so slyly. 

The long bridge was dark and misty, and as slippery 
as his hold on life. Walking swiftly and safely over cross- 
ties to its center, he stood there and turned his livid, 
rigid, dying face towards the sea so far away, where an old 
moon glimmered on its waters, so grand and surpassing 
and divine in their reverential beauty, so solemn and still. 
His fading, burning eyes stared on its sleeping breast, 
which lay heaving and breathing, tranquil and serene, as 
if it might be the token of eternal sleep. 


MISS LIND S ENGAGEMENT IS BROKEN. 


441 


“Was it?” his bitter lips questioned. “Was that the 
symbol of the answer to the cruel world-old riddle of 
life?” 

The problem was too hard for his mortal brain to solve. 
But the beautiful, balmy night of death was falling fast, 
and the rush of its night-wandering shadow was close at 
hand to tell. A tremor of the long bridge, an advancing 
shudder, a vibrating roar coming quickly towards him, a 
lurid glare: 

“ Good-bye, Isabelle, — until we meet again!” 

A shriek from out of the mist, a something flung off 
into the sea which is wailing and gnashing in the outer 
darkness of eternal night; and, as the train of fate swept 
on, Greta’s engagement was broken. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


^‘MORITURI, TE SALUTAMUS.” 

“ We shall walk no more through the sodden plain, 

With the faded bents o’erspread; 

We shall stand no more by the seething main, 

While the dark wrack drives o’er head; 

We shall part no more in the wind and the rain, 

Where thy last farewell was said; 

But perhaps I shall meet thee and knov/ thee again. 

When the sea gives up her dead.” 

That gay old waltzer. Mother Earth, had danced twice 
around the sun since the events of the last chapter. On 
the last night of winter, — when the ghostly Nightingale 
was accustomed to sail in to Pass Christian, a worthy com- 
panion apparition of the fire phantom had ascended from 
the Gulf with the rising of the dusk. A gale came up 
from the South, shooting off from some demoniac cyclone 
that was now raving leagues away out to sea. A great bat 
called Night also flitted in from the deep and fluttered its 
hideous wings over ‘‘the Pass,^^ and fixed its claws upon 
it and clung to it, black and dismal. Villagers looked 
from their windows into the wild clouds and shook their 
heads: — 

“ Worse than the storm of two years ago, — when the 
lightning killed the beautiful lady in the African 
Church, — the night of the detective murder.” 

442 


MORITURI, TE SALUTAMUS.” 443 

Oaks which were shaken in vain by less mighty tem- 
pests, now fell in lawns and crashed over villas. Feeble 
mansions, whose size had outlasted their rotting strength, 
reeled in the blast, tottered and fell, and even the intrepid 
Mexican Gulf quaked on that goblin-haunted night, as 
though the scared ground beneath it shuddered. 

A bright fire cheerily blazed in the open hearth of the 
great parlor of the hotel; crackling logs whistled merry 
tunes, and the gay fiame smiled on the groups that clus- 
tered around. Those assembled there talked comfortably 
of gales, coast wrecks, lost travelers in Louisiana prairies, 
ships destroyed by lightning and water-spouts, and of 
others that had foundered at sea on just such nights as 
this, when all hands went down and were heard of only 
through some letter sealed in a bottle; of collisions in the 
dark after green and red side-lights had been broken in 
and blown out, of leaks sprung, of ships stranded on shoals 
and of keels broken on ledges, and of beaches strewn with 
drowned sailors. And story-tellers and listeners all 
rejoiced, and, the more dangerous the storm, the brighter 
the contrast indoors. 

The dense, importunate rain knocked violently against 
the doors and tapped against the windows and usurped and 
beat upon the muddy avenue; but its beating was not half 
so heavy as the flood of memories which rained down upon 
the heart of one who sat by the fire. Two years ago she 
was a child: a woman now, 'the finish of her beauty was so 
perfect that many, on seeing her for the first time, would 
be transfixed with a sudden pleasure, like the surprised 


444 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


delight of our first view of canvas transfigured by Raphael. 
The beaux of the hotel gave involuntary homage to her 
splendor, and knelt, like those of old, as to a golden 
image, — and indeed the wavy gloriole about her head and 
the drooping eyelashes were of as j^ure a gold as was ever 
mined in California, while mouth and chin were chiseled 
like those of a graven goddess. The marble purity of her 
chastened face was like sunlit snow, but the audacious fire- 
light was tempted to kiss her crimson lips, and it made her 
cheeks blush like damask roses. Her eyes gleamed soft 
starlight, and were as dreamy concerning the gallants who 
were around her, only as the other stars are of other mor- 
tals. Gentle love-light was in her look towards an invalid 
mother, and in her voice was all the melody of the Rhine- 
maidens’ song. Queenly as Maria Theresa, graceful as 
the Queen of Scots, her beauty shone upon the gay fislier- 
men at the Mexican Gulf merely with kindly light; they 
were only as those other tourists who fall in love with those 
other smiling Madonnas who can not be wooed beyond the 
Italian galleries. 

But the Madonna of Pass Christian was not smiling on 
that evening, however much in the evil weather the 
coquettish fire might laugh in her face, and flirt and spark. 
Her thoughts, too, were out in the night— but not, like 
others, the brighter for its blackness. Like daring sea- 
biids, they flow across a tossing waste of waters to where 
whirling clouds and frothing breakers and howling winds 
and other savages which roam in the briny wilderness 
were circling in a war-dance about a captive ship. Greta 


MORITURT, TE SALUTAMUS/^ 445 

could almost hear the tall masts lurching and quivering, 
timbers groaning and bulwarks straining, as it tumbled 
headlong on over mountains and valleys of ocean, now 
tossed aloft on foaming crests that whitened the all-per- 
vading jet, and now thrown down in bottomless smoking 
pits. Blood-thirsty billow dancers leaped and brandished 
their deadly arms, and as the captive ran the gauntlet a 
cruel cyclone hurled its airy tomahawks, and all the bar- 
baric hordes of the sea yelled and racked it in its agony, 
and gleefully uttered their sharp, loud, hideous outcries. 

Green and red side-lights feebly glimmer from the bows 
of the panting vessel ; blinking and tearful they gaze 
ahead like a lost and sobbing child trying to see through 
darkness. Dim figures anxiously keep guard upon her 
decks, and one still watcher there, however dread the 
night, gazing through the gloom, sees the gold sunshine 
round your head, Margareta, gleaming bright through the 
troubled air like the beaming from a light-house ; its rays 
define a golden path of hope through the intervening 
darkness, across the countless miles of hungering waves. 
For many an irksome day he has walked the decks to see 
hovering over him the gray formless cloud-maidens of the 
passing storms, with this child of sunlight among them; 
and he has caught glimpses of her again when the sable 
robes of the dark daughters of Night, jeweled with stars, 
were floating overhead. Homeward bound now, he expects 
and hopes, with only wood and human hands to keep his 
immortal foes below, while the sanguine ocean — never- 
dying old sexton — stretches out his eager arms towards 


446 


THE MADOHN-A OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


the sailor to ^"gather him in” to his graveyard for the 
drowned. 

earnestly trust,” said Greta, ^^that you never 
entertain your guests with the spectacle of a shipwreck, 
Mrs. Turtle?” 

Yes,” was the answer of Mrs. Turtle. This lady was 
now the hostess of the Mexican Gulf, and her husband was 
its landlord. In their position as entertainers of many gar- 
rulous guests, the worthy two had learned a few other 
English words in addition to that short adverb which ex- 
presses a monosyllabic affirmation or consent. Extremists 
are usually like the historic little girl who possessed a 
diminutive curl that hung over the center of her forehead, 
who, when she was good, was very much so, but when she 
was evil disposed she was as desperately depraved as the 
Turtles became talkative after they once started on that 
downward career. It is said that the proverb, The 
voice of the Turtle is heard in the land,” originated in 
Pass Christian after Mr. and Mrs. Turtle became its inn- 
keepers. 

•‘Yes,” said Mrs. Turtle, “this coast is somewhat 
treacherous, but the wrecks seldom amount to much. 
Having had this place only a year, our own experience is 
not great. If Mrs. Gunn were only here she could tell us 
some great stories — she used to know this country so well. 
But, poor woman, she’s gone now.” 

Greta was silent, and, being blue in general, something 
like a tear momentarily glistened in her eye. She had 
heard how Mrs. Gunn had tried to save her from Meeks 


""MORITURI, TE SALUTAMUS.” 447 

and ruin ; how accidentally seeing the murderer in Bir- 
mingham, tracing him to his lodging, and finding that he 
had gone, but not north, immediately divined his pur- 
pose, shortened her tour, and accidentally saw him again 
as he took the train at Helena on his way south, — after 
which the rest followed. And Greta, with mingled feel- 
ings, was sorry for her harshness to the good, well-mean- 
ing woman who sought Warren and her in the cemetery; 
for Mrs. Gunn had gone to the ground where the dead are 
buried for the last time, and could never raise her kind 
voice for Greta again. Indeed, she had died thinking to 
save her, for some exposure during the night journey after 
Meeks had brought on a fatal attack of pneumonia. Such 
thoughts did not tend to make the young lady especially 
vivacious, and she asked, with a lugubrious look : 

What was that wreck of the Firefly^ please?” 

‘‘0, that is history, — half a century ago,” answered 
Mrs. Turtle; ^^on Cat Island an emigrant ship was lost 
with hundreds of lives. Terrible! So violent was the 
gale that the sea rose and covered this region with water. 
The Yellow Fever came next year, supposed to have been 
caused by the miasma from the drowned bodies in the 
wreck.” 

Greta listened with polite impatience. Soon she arose 
as if to go to her room; but, instead of continuing, she 
slipped aside through a hall to the outside front door, and, 
opening it slightly, peered out at the weather. 

She saw the horizontal rain driving fast and heard the 
wind hissing around the verandahs like steam. The har- 


448 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


assed oaks swung anxiously so and fro like deranged liv- 
ing creatures, and their dark and disordered plumes made 
Greta think of ruffled funeral feathers shaking; a black 
pall lay over the earth — only less grim than the wild desola- 
tion over the waters; swift clouds were skimming across an 
uneasy, drunken moon, and fearfully flying, while the 
wind, pressing through the trees like an Indian on the 
trail, hurried after their fugitive shapes. No face that was 
dear to her rose out of that chaos. Sighing as she noted 
how there was no prospect of its clearing, she lingered a 
moment and then went in. 

There was dancing in the great hall every Saturday 
night during the season. As the latter begins in Febru- 
ary and extends through twelve months — if all lunar — the 
mathematical reader will calculate that it embraces no less 
than fifty-two hops, and must, therefore, be very gay. It 
was now the end of February, and Saturday night. As 
Greta went back to the group at the fireside, she heard 
the twanging of catgut, the grunts of bass viols and the 
squeaking of first violins. Black ogres, generously called 
musicians,"’ jumped up like a Jack-in-a-box from obscure 
corners and doorways, and were shut up in a larger box — 
a closed room — from which strange caterwauling began to 
issue. 

It seemed to be some kind of a gigantic hand-organ, 
whose internal mechanism wanted oiling; the melody 
played was called Tuning Up.” 

At eight o’clock the double doors of the dining-hall 
were thrown open wide; its tables had vanished as if the 


MOKITURI, TE SALUTAMUSt"^ 449 

night was one of the 1,001 Arabian; its chairs were 
arranged along the wall for certain flowers, and the floor 
was waxed for nimble feet. Matrons, wall-flowers and 
spectators filed in and seated themselves. In a corner 
gathered the musicians,” last from a dance in some barn. 
Village Caesars; mute, inglorious Pompeys, dyed Abraham 
Lincolns — ‘^colored” the blackest of the black; taught at 
Virginia Hoe- down Academies and Corn-shucking Musical 
Colleges — had come for their post-graduate course to the 
Mexican Culf. 

^^Tek yah pardlers, jebblem en ladies, fo^ um wash 
quadrille! ” 

This was the language of a gentleman who, to use his 
words, wuz interduced ter Mr. Turtle by my fren', de 
capting, a-sayin^ ^ Yah will find um a nice fellah.^” 

And Mr. Turtle had asked, — 

What qualifications have you for leading the 
dawnses?” 

swars by my goddess Venus, I has let umbition go, 
en spends my manhood dawnsin’ an' 'citin' poickry ter 
bootiful women.'' 

^"Been married often?'' interrogated Mr. Turtle. 

Sorry a dear hez I,” replied McAllister; I uster say 
to um, ^My deah madam, ain't it satisfy a pusson to come 
inter existincts wid de bornation ob dat pusson’s country? 
En my opinions, four generixshaws ob genTmen mek a 
genu-ine gent. I knows dat my English bred'ren ain't 
'greed wid me in dis yer all, but in de spite ob dem, it am 
my belief.' Wid disdain, my fair un wud reply, "Yah am 


450 


THfi MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


easy satisficated, suh/ an^ den de bilers ob wrath wud 
uncork. No suh, Tse nebber married. 

Do you know anything extra in the dawn sing way?^' 
asked Mr. Turtle. He was a man of few words. 

Yasser. De pigeon-wings knowed only ter our ances- 
ters I goes through wid repose, en dignitum. I maps out 
a hop ez Ginerawl Scott maps outer battle. De band 
strikes up, de party flies in de wash, I ices de shampoon, 
an^ sets de table, wid marbleous celebrity. Den comes my 
hour ob triumph, wen, widout gibel de lease signal, fearin^ 
some un might stall me, I dash in among de dawnsers an^ 
wait on de sassiety queen, wid de bunco an^ de flesh- 
pots ob Egyp^” 

‘^Are you related to Mr. Ward McAllister of New 
York?” 

^^My deah suh, I^se a thoroughbred; — dat gemmem am 
de fadder ob my ink-sperated soul, but not er my body, 
wich am ez brack ez de grace er spades.” 

Well, ril hire you, then,” said Mr. Turtle. So it 
came to pass that on this evening Mr. Me Allister^s strange 
unmusical bray rang out, like a jack, in the dancing- 
hall:— 

^^All tek yah pardlers, — fo^ um wash quadrille!” 

The pardlers” chose and formed sets. One thought 
of Seidl and Damrosch as the dusky master of ceremonies 
silently faced his orchestra and raised his heavy arms 
above his head. Whites of sable eyes rolled up to look at 
him, woolly-headed fiddlers shoved up their bows, thick 
lips grinned and white teeth gleamed: — 


451 


"'MORITURl, TE SALUTAMUS/' 

yah all ready? Look out der! One, two, tree, 
whoop, go! ” 

Down crashed fiddle bows, tambourines rattled, brass 
horns neighed and bleated, bass viols grunted, and an 
invalid drum now and then was heard to give a dull, 
sickly thud. 

Shoot yah pardlers! .... Turn de coroners! 
Head cup^ add once an^ get back! Forrered again an^ 
swing yer uppersites! . . . Balloons coroners! . . . All 
wash! . . . Shoo!” This last marked the termina- 
tion of the figure and the signal for silence. 

In an aside to the band, when preparing for the 
second figure: — 

Turn a steam on, blow dem whistles, ring dat sim- 
bell, start de wheels roun^; — now we’s off! ” 

To the dancers: 

Forrerd jebblem an’ ladies, an’ get back! . . Four 
ladies meet in um middle, jebblem ketch hold ob each 


udder an’ suckle round de ladies! . . Ladies get under 
de gebblem an’ swing pardlers! .... All wash! . . . . 
Shoo!” 


In theory the orchestra was a monarchy. 

De one who now befo’ yah looms,” said McAllister, 
with a seemingly hereditary disposition to run to poetry as 
grass to hayseed,' ^^am tubbed de awfulrat ob dorwin 
rooms !” and this sentiment — not original with him — he 
would often repeat as he raised his arms to Heaven to give 
the signal for the dance. Practically this autocrat dele- 
gated his leadership to a rare band of democrats. Each 


452 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


player led his fellow, and each followed any whose aim 
seemed accurate enough to have hit the tune then the tar- 
get of fiddles and horns. The realistic result was as if an 
asylum of crazy carpenters had taken to amusing them- 
selves at sawing all kinds of bad timber, and would have 
been mistaken for certain of the future harmonies of 
AYagner. 

Poor Wagner, for what future’^ does he make 
“ music ” now? 

Gib um brimstone! shouted McAllister to his gang, 
inspiring them with the necessary enthusiasm for the third 
figure. 

Forrerd, add once, an^ get back! Forrerd an^ sloot! 
Ladies trade! .... Sachet! Work umMibely!” 

As McAllister became excited, and, as he explained, 
warmed up to his work, he would not always carefully 
distinguish the orders to the band in the west end of the 
hall, from the calls to the dancers in the east. Not infre- 
quently he would face in the direction of all good Moham- 
medans when they pray, and cry, ^^Four ladies balloons 
ter jebblem on um right! Half lemonade!” Still facing 
east he would then hoot to the same ladies (for all that 
appeared to the contrary), Shake it out ob yer selbs, 
keep it movil! ” — The explanation and apology for which 
is this: feeling bound to encourage the orchestra while 
watching the progress of the figures, he raised his voice so 
that it might be heard beyond the possibility of a doubt. 
He would therefore often bray towards the ladies in the 
east and cause unadvised young newcomers to ask what 


MORITUKI, TE SALUTAMUS.” 453 

that strange Parisian figure was,” when they \Yere told, in 
the most peculiar harsh French: 

“ Chaque-i-ta-ta yeux selles, quipe et Mouville ! ” 

^^Fust cup’ lead ter right! Fust lady get back, forrerd 
free! Wake up libely! (This was intended for the band.) 
Sloot! Fust lady left wid second jebblem, go ter fourth 
cup’! Each gent has a different pardler, mix all around 
an’ get back! Gib all a shake-down, rattle um bones! 
Side cup’ cross sober! Right um’ left! ” 

To the band, at the conclusion of figure, with both 
arms raised on high: 

^^Shoo!” Then the barnyard cackling ceased again. 
Another pause. 

All sand round! Grand change! Dat green niggah,” 
majestically frowning at one of the band, ‘*wich ain’t 
playum de coronet right, is ’hind time! Put a steam on, 
mek de wheels go’ roun’! One cup’ round! Champagne! 
Cross! Walk round! Forrerd in de line, an’ back, an’ 
swing pardlers ter places! . . Wash! ” 

And so the wild rout went on. 

Merrily stepped and glided the dancers that night, 
to the clucking of the Hoe-down Band. Pretty little chil- 
dren, boys in knickerbockers and little girls with long 
flowing hair, blue ribbons, pink and white dresses, slim 
little shapely legs, — skipped like fairies as McGinty fell 
down to the bottom of the sea. Mr. McGinty indulged in 
his tumbling proclivities many times over, accompanied 
also by older children, — graceful and polished lads, fair, 
elegant witches, as lithe in their movements as any sylph. 


454 


THE MADONHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


As the creator’s ehony images in the corner fiddled and 
squeaked with an infantile good-humored showing of teeth, 
there was a tendency to degenerate from Strauss into that 
much Traveled Man of Arkansaw, and from The Artist 
Life and The Blue Danube into the Smvanee Ribber. 
Occasionally the fashionable York would slide into abreak- 
down, and once a New York belle slid with it into a heel- 
and-toe tap. Nature struggled with culture, and tambou- 
rine, brass horn, and catgut often changed sides. Between 
spectators’ laughter. Ward McAllister, and the gloomy 
weather, — plantation genius was in a fine frenzy. 

Night wore on amid the never-ceasing glimmering of 
satin-slippered feet over the shining of the palpitating 
fioor, while hearts lightly fluttered in the perfumed air. 
Untouchable partners moved in rhythm there, — the promise 
of white shoulders, the joy of ivory throats, the mirth of 
jeweled hands, the hope of golden hair and the jests of 
raven tresses, all dancing a spirit waltz together in clouds 
of draperies and vapor of misty lace, and the lights 
twinkled in concert with the shrill quavering and trills 
of the dusky nightingales. 

Suddenly, from somewhere out in the wild night, an 
invisible guest sprang into the ball-room and fell heavily 
amongst the light hearts, — a sound deep and sullen. 
What was it ? The storm bellowed confusedly and the 
listeners could distinguish nothing clearly. 

‘^It is the passing-bell,” some suggested, '‘for a death 
in the village.” 

But they expected in vain to hear its second stroke. 


455 


MORITURI, TE SALUTAMUS/’ 

It never tolled again. The dark presage of the unknown 
summons made an anxious look here and there, but the 
dance began once more, with only less of perfect gayety. 

There was one, however, whose sweet face remained 
thoughtful, and whose eyes looked far away from the 
kingdom of Ward McAllister. 

Let us go out on the front verandah, Mrs Turtle, she 
said, just for a joke, and watch for the phantom ship. 
You know tliis is its night.’’ The voice which longed for 
a joke” seemed to quiver too much to be really in the 
mood for mere sport, and Mrs. Turtle, guessing that some 
ulterior motive prompted her suggestion, replied : — 

Yes.” 

The two ladies pressed through the central hallway to a 
sheltered watch-tower at the corner of the south verandah, 
which in fair weather commanded a view of the sea. But all 
was invisible now. Out under the black firmament was some- 
thing that looked like the rhythmic vibrations of a long 
white cord ; it was all that told where frothing wave-crests 
incessantly rushed upon the beach. The daft hurricane 
was screaming and driving with gusty shouts through the 
oaks which skirted the hotel lawn, patriarchal branches 
smote the eaves which they had hitherto blessed, and 
groaned in sympathy with the distracted wind. 

A lovely night for the phantoms !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Turtle. “ By the ‘way, what has become of the raconteur 
of that charming story — Mrs. Slidell ? ” 

Dead,” said Greta. 

''Dear me ! After Mrs. Gunn’s death, so nearly two 


456 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


years ago, I lost sight of those Southerners. And pretty 
Grace Slidell 

‘‘ Married to Mr. Rattler, who met her there, you know, 
with us. He is Judge of Probate and Matrimonial Causes 
out in Seattle now.^’ 

Yes ? Well, Pm glad theyVe not all dead. And Mr. 
Warren ?” 

On his way from Italy to New Orleans to-night. He 
should be off somewhere near here on those black waters at 
this moment . 

Yes?” said Mrs. Turtle, and again her power of speech 
failed her. But what she lacked in words she made up in 
thought, and she realized that this self-contained girl may 
have had profound reasons for wanting to see only a goblin 
craft. 

Now, listen for the spectral violin,” said Greta, bravely, 
‘^and watch for a supernatural light.” 

But the only spirit music that reached their ears was 
the mournful ascending and descending chromatic scale 
of the wind as it played upon the trees and pillars of the 
verandah. They strained their eyes towards the raving 
sea. In the whole mad view they saw no sailoPs light 
and only the buffeting and tumbling of phantom-like 
figures of darkness. A sheeted deluge of water was 
impelled headlong against the thin, vibrating walls of 
their lookout turret. All was so dreary and melancholy 
that Greta at length yielded to the earnest request of Mrs. 
Turtle and turned to go in for the night. But as they 
opened the door leading to the corridor, Greta gave one 


MORITUKI, TE SALUTAMUS. 


457 


6t 

last look over her shoulder towards the sea, aud abruptly 
stopped. 

There it is!” she exclaimed. 

Out in the darkness, the loneliness and the roar, Mrs. 
Turtle fancied that she also discovered a light, which 
seemed as if hanging from clouds which were raining ink. 
They stood, uttering no sound, and looked again; it had 
disappeared. Before them was blackness so solid that a 
ball thrown into it might rebound. Were the eyes 
deceived? Was the light a phosphorescent sparkle? 

No, — again there it was! And now the first light, 
which had twinkled from some mast-head, was reinforced 
by a flaring rocket, soaring aloft towards the sky. As it 
rose they saw the illuminated masts, yards, and rigging of 
some gallant ship. Then came the blue fire of a signal, 
revealing her on the shoals and in fatal peril. 

Mrs. Turtle ran in to inform her husband. Mr. Turtle 
at once sent word to the coast patrol, but that guard had 
already seen the rockets flying, and now ignited a red light 
that surrounded the Mexican Gulf with a vivid flood of 
crimson, — whose vigor neither the wind nor the rain could 
extinguish . 

Kockets and signal flames then spoke out from the 
wreck; meteors, bright as lightning against the black 
sky, flew aloft in curving lines and descended in silver, 
pearl and golden showers, calling, in this beautiful 
language of the distressed, for help from the hurricane 
which had dashed them on the reef. Through the inter- 
national code of signals they said that the vessel was the 
Wanderer, from Genoa. 


458 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

‘'The Wanderer 9'' faltered Greta, shocked almost 
breathless, and then her noiseless lips framed the words, 

‘ Our Father, who art in heaven, 0, deliver him from 
evil!” 

For no other now could save Warren. He was out 
there — upon a seething white ledge of rocks, where a 
ghastly reflection of the gay hop at the hotel was reveling; 
a hot cyclone from the frenzied deserts of the equator was 
circling around him in a dreadful waltz, the voices of the 
dancing sea fiends were shrieking at him, while the ever- 
growing darkness of that mighty ball-room was fitfully 
illumined by the ornamental phosphorescence worn by its 
carousing throngs. 

Rockets, and shells with lines attached, were thrown 
from the shore towards the vessel, but it was too far out. 
Rocket after rocket started on the meteor course of its 
merciful errand in vain, falling, in the teeth of such a gale, 
miserably short. Finally the brave men on the reef seemed 
to realize that they must give up hope. Gladiators, fighting 
the wild beasts of the sea, thenceforth they seemed to say, 
like those of Rome, “About to die we salute thee.” Red, 
blue and white flames, streaming up at intervals, told their 
story to the Mexican Gulf and its guests. 

Warren for two years had been in Europe attending to 
the silk trade of the great commercial firm of “ Woodbury, 
Warren & Co.,” of Boston. France and Italy had welcomed 
him very soon after he said good-bye to Greta. Although 
they had never seen each other since then, a correspond- 
ence had continued between the two that was full of 


^^MORITURI, TE SALUTAMUS.” 459 

implicit meaning. The understanding would have been 
more than tacit, Greta recognized, had not Warren, from 
month to month, expected to return home and in person ask 
Greta to be his wife. But the months had glided on imper- 
ceptibly, until, in the previous December, he had written 
to Greta that one of their vessels was gathering a cargo at 
Genoa for their New Orleans branch house. A later com- 
munication by the Liverpool mail announced that he had 
sailed from Genoa to New Orleans, and that he hoped to 
meet her mother and her, somewhere on their annual win- 
tering in the South. But his next note was in brilliant 
colored letters of fire, flung towards her and the sky in 
clusters of stars, and the characters of his penmanship 
were curiously graceful. Then she thought, with a tre- 
mor, how all the flaming beauty of red, blue and white,— » 
the gay tulle of the soaring fairies who carried their mes- 
sage — was but the last words of the dying. Exhausted 
with exposure, they were dropping from the rigging one 
by one, and falling into the sea or perishing on the deck, 
and that smart quick-working undertaker, the surf, 
promptly hearsed them and bore them away to the ceme- 
tery that will never fill. The wreck itself must soon break 
up, and, as no boat could live in such a sea, the fate of 
the last who clung to it was hopeless. So Greta realized 
that this elegant, glittering message of light came from 
an arena more remorseless than Nero^s Colosseum, and, 
like that of those who entertained the Roman mob^ was 
only: 

Morituri te salutamus! ” 


460 


THE MADOKNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


The caged tigers and lions of the famished waters were 
set free to rend him now, but above their roaring all 
around him, even as he looked down into the drowning 
depths which must swallow him up so soon, she thought 
she could hear his tranquil voice saying — as quietly as in 
the days when, among the meadows of the enchanted 
ground, they had walked the calm, flower-bordered lanes 
together: 

“ I shall meet thee and know thee again, 

. When the sea gives up her dead.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

SHALL WE MEET AGAIN? 

At midnight Greta sat in her room before the window 
which overlooked the sea. Fireworks from the Wanderer 
had ceased, but it was yet unknown whether those who 
waited out there for death had yet received their visitor. 
Ugly, ragged clouds were tearing angrily in the sky, over 
the place of the doomed vessel. Greta could distinguish 
these outlines now, for the rain had stopped and a bewil- 
dered moon had come out to look at the terrible upropr 
and rwas staggering on its path through chasms and strips 
of vapor as madly as if it had been scared out of its sanity 
by the aerial dragons which now infested its road — just 
retribution for the fate inflicted on so many of earth’s 
luna-tics. By its crazy, fltful light, she caught occasional 
glimpses of the riven hulk, the twisted and shattered 
masts, flapping tatters of sails rent, and split yards and 
disheveled rigging — all so feeble and tortured and lifeless 
— in the midst of a murderous sea. 

She had tried to sleep, to gather perhaps needed 
strength for the morrow, but her attempt was utterly vain. 
She had tried to pray, but she could only murmur, ^‘Thy 
will be done,” and then wait to see what was His will. 
She tried to think, but something withip her, responsive 

461 


462 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


to the outer storm, tossed up the deep sea of her love, 
uutil all was tumult there. But among the blur and 
indistinctness, she thought of one of Warren^s letters 
which she had with her. To occupy her mind with some 
other thing about him than the awful scene from her 
window, she looked for that letter, and found it. He had 
written it from Eome, in the city called eternal, under the 
shadow of the mother of all Christian churches, in reply to 
one from her asking him to strengthen her faith against 
skeptical doubts in the truth implied in that poetical saying: 
‘‘The sea gave up its dead.” Listening to the thundering 
of the waters and the storm, she read: — 

“ The problem of life is not a difficult one, for it 
solves itself — so very soon at best — by death, Jesus said, 

‘ I am the resurrection and the life,^ and then, in explana- 
tion, restored Lazarus to life, with his former image 
unchanged. Sometimes we are tempted to worship other 
things than God; not as the old Chaldees, cherubim and 
genii, but the powers of nature, ‘the laws of physical 
science.^ We will not discredit science or natural laws. 
But, however certain as far as they go, and however 
correct our ideas concerning them, above nature and 
above science rules the Lord of nature and the Lord of 
science. If the natural world and the lust thereof were 
to pass away, and if some day our science turns out to be 
comparatively a childish guess, — One remains, with human 
tenderness yearning over hearts, saying ‘ Come unto me 
all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you 
rest.’” 


SHALL WE MEET AGAIM? 


463 


Shrieks out upon the sea, — she heard around him now, 
hoary-headed waves, like aged, greedy misers, raised 
themselves up in their avarice to gloat over the new 
addition to their treasured but disused hoard of precious 
dead ; there were packs of howling wolves crowding 
about him too, pressing on, forcing each other down, and 
springing up and rushing forward towards him again, ana 
immortal hydras, whose Lernean heads no human Hercules 
could cut off and destroy with fire-brands. 

‘‘ I believe in the resurrection of the body, continued 
Warren, in his letter. ^^Not as ghosts or disembodied 
spirits — shall we meet again. For He whose body died 
and rose again shall raise ours too, so that we shall know 
each other, as the disciples, after His resurrection, knew 
Him. 

‘^Some time ago — let the agnostic put the date as far 
back as he likes — the Creator made man directly or indi- 
rectly from the dust of the earth. What He did once, He 
can do again. Why puzzle our heads with the ^ scientific,^ 
agnostic question: What can live after brain and body die? 
Let everything die! God, who gives us back our spirit 
after it has been lulled to momentary death by ether or 
chloroform, can give it back after it has been lulled to a 
longer death by something else. He can enliven us again. 

He do so? He who made us love feels tenderly 
towards the martyrs who died for him in the arena, with 
Caligula jesting at Him and them; yet, if he gives no 
future, the injustice to His loved ones remains eternal. If 
all the wronged of earth, the down-trodden, the tortured. 


464 


THE MADONKA OF PASS CHRISTlA^f. 


the victims of wicked wars and priest-craft, — \vere to 
enter eternity with their wrong unrequited, their wrong 
would be immortal and creation a miserable failure. If 
He who can create an infinite universe must Himself be 
infinite, where is His perfect kindness? Why did He not 
annihilate creation long ago out of its misery, — its never- 
satisfied, hopeless life? All is confusion if there is no 
immortality. Unless there is another land where hideous 
wrongs may be righted, a wise and good Power planned 
His highest earthly creations for disappointment, failure 
and hopeless woe. God^s love for us has awakened in 
many of us a love for him. If this life ends all, — does He 
not sadden Himself and make Himself grieve by destroy- 
ing those who love Him? Why train up His children to 
love and pray, leading them through years of longing and 
hope — only to snuff their love-light out at last! Do we — 
made in the image of God — kill what we love? It is as 
though a father should rear his children until their love for 
him is in full sweet bloom, and then thrust them into graves 
while their hearts are springing to his, and while his name 
is lovingly murmured by lips which he blights into eternal 
dust. Has our Father no sorrow as He crumbles eternally 
the hands stretched out to Him in dying faith? If eter- 
nal death ends mortal life, what is this world but an 
insatiable grave into which the loving Creator buries his 
children with hopeless misery? Or, does He mock and 
tantalize the love and hope which He has not only let 
them cherish (though infinitely powerful to overthrow 
deception), but which He even caused, through allowing a 


SltALL WE MEET AGAIN? 


4G5 


fable ingenious enough to cheat Paul and make martyrs of 
God’s works, a fiction which he yet permitted to rise and 
grow along with his creation? Is He accessory to an impos- 
ture, — the willing, all-powerful spectator of unhindered 
falsehood? Are these many millions only His miserable 
defrauded dupes? Does the power that reigns encourage 
universal deceit? 

^^The creed of ignorance and despair seems to insult 
our reason. If man is not to live beyond the grave of his 
worn-out body, why was he afflicted, unlike the brutes, 
with remorse? It would have been better to have given 
him only enough instinct to eat, drink and perish, and 
amuse the Creator, — a calculating low prudence enough to 
get through the brief span of his purposeless years, and 
crawl into the ground after the puppet-show was ended. 
The baboon is not lashed by conscience, and he is happy; 
why are we morally over-freighted, like a ship too deeply 
loaded in the bows, ever drenched with bitter seas? The 
pleadings of conscience are ill-mated with perishing phys- 
ical life; a more vivid discernment of this world, if it is our 
all, would be more useful than imagining what is not to 
be. Yet, unlike the lower animals, we have been empowered 
to reason upon existence of a happier land. 

^^The evolution of Darwin (to whom 'free-will is a 
mystery’) turns out different forms of bodies and images of 
clay, but it does not manufacture mortality nor our 
thoughts of God, nor our free-will. Physical brain action is 
on one side of an unbridgeable chasm, and our consciousness 
of identy on the other. ‘Into that abyss falls materialism,’ 


4GG 


THE MADOXHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


says Prof. Tyndall, ‘when it pretends to explain the 
human mind.-’ So, let not your heart be troubled at 
the noisy demands of evolution; the destiny of the soul is 
not predicted by the clamorous prophets of the expansion 
and change of clay, and the tranquillity of our onward 
spiritual path can never be affected by corporeal din. 
Evolution, which explains so much, can not explain 
itself. What our five senses register and methodize con- 
stitute ‘physical science/ Do touch, taste, and hearing 
tell us how the universe began and what lies beyond it and 
beyond the end of time? When an animal-fiower or a 
sponge reflects, it feels, like some infidels, certain that it 
sees and knows all that can be. Our five senses conclude 
that human life ends when this prison house of the soul 
is shattered, because, forsooth, when the prison windows 
are darkened the still imprisoned soul within can not see. 
The wise agnostic concludes that their light depends on 
keeping the soul a prisgner within its walls of clay. 

“ If we obeyed God with that cowardly fear with which 
a cage of lions obey their tamer, compliance with the good 
order rules of the universe might thus be compelled, and, 
this divine object attained, annihilation might end us. 
But other instincts than dread have been implanted in the 
soul. It recognizes and loves ‘the Father;^ even a brutal 
human master will not kill the dog who loves him, and God 
surely will not kill us. 

“ Our bodies at death crumble to earth. He who placed 
consciousness and soul in that gathered dust, can clothe 
that soul with another body, and He will for those who 


SHALL WE MEET AGAIN? 


467 


love and trust. Then let not your heart be troubled; in 
your Father^s house are many mansions, and Jesus has 
gone there to receive those who love Him.” 

Clasping her hands, Greta looked from her window out 
into the sounding darkness of infinity; in those fathomless 
depths the turbulent passion of her soul seemed to find its 
tumultuous echo ; night opened wide the apertures of 
thought, and her mental gaze was directed to the region 
far beyond daylight and time. The invisible music of the 
old masters which Greta so loved had often whispered to 
her of late that the unseen was more beautiful than the 
visible things of this passing world, and now harps, the 
^olian wind-blown oaks before her, touched strains simi- 
lar to the music which whistled in the disheveled, disor- 
dered rigging of the Wanderer, but their solemn voices 
breathed of the dawnlight of an eternal day, and sung with 
Handel, I know that my Kedeemerliveth. ” 

There are no human witnesses before us,” continued 
Warren, and he seemed to be addressing her now from the 
very portals of death, ‘‘to give direct testimony as to 
Heaven’s existence. Circumstantial evidence alone can 
prove what ‘eye hath not seen nor ear heard, nor hath en- 
tered into the heart of man.’ The distance from earth to 
moon is known, yet it has not been directly ascertained by 
thrusting our measuring rods up into the air toward the 
sky; it has been determined from facts entirely within the 
limits of this earth. In like manner we may decide that a 
hereafter exists, trusting in it as firmly as we believe in 
the alleged distance of the moon, although we have not our- 


468 THE MADOKKA OP PASS CHPISTIAK. 

selves measured it. A long succession of apple-trees can 
not, among themselves, arrange matters so as to get down 
on four feet gradually and become a dog oi a horse; an 
almighty somewhere, a power outside the tree^ must have 
put living things upon this earth when he considered it 
good. This almighty, having made us, is more powerful, 
intellectually, than his sculptured work. Therefore, He is 
able to have revealed Himself — if He has so chosen — to cer- 
tain of his human creatures, and to have talked with them 
in the language He Himself empowered them to use. Has 
He made any such revelation? We are told that He pre- 
sented Himself to the world, drawing it from its theories, 
rites, doctrinal notions, traditions, and transmitted mor- 
alisms, to Himself. ‘Assent to our ideas,' said the phil- 
osophers, ‘adopt our systems;' He said, ‘open unto me.' No 
religionists ever claimed like Him. Gautama said, 
‘ Renunciation is the way.' Mohammed said, ‘Heaven is 
that way.' These speculators based their systems on 
some material advantage, while all Christian methods are 
centered in devotion to Him. He asked nothing from men, 
except their personal love and loyalty. It mattered little 
whether Simon asked Him to a feast, but once there, it did 
matter whether Simon loved Him or not. What even the 
denying Peter did, was second in importance, if Peter 
would only love Him. So with all of us. 

“ Is this touching story untrue? Let the hypothesis be 
that while the power of the Almighty to give a worded 
message to his creatures here is unquestionable, — that He 
has not done so. Is this hypothesis consistent with the 


SHALL WE MEET AGAIN? 


4G9 


facts in the world's history as we know them? Suppose 
the doctrine of immortality to be false, that there is no 
personal God, but only ‘ a stream of tendency,^ forces, 
masses, to whom we owe no duty. Or, suppose that the 
personal God made no verbal statements to his creatures 
here and annihilates them at death: — 

In such a state of things, man, being merely the high- 
est animal, with the capacity of growing in skill and learn- 
ing as he passed from barbarism to civilization, would be at 
first without more religion than an animal. Gradually 
increasing in intelligence, the human race, after it left its 
babyhood and came to observe the wonders in nature, 
would people the earth and sky as did the Greeks, with 
fanciful beings — Pallas, Aphrodite, Hermes, Zeus, and the 
rest. They would have a belief in some such myth as the 
Styx and Hades, and of the unhappy thousand-year wan- 
derings of the departed shades. Finally, as the last step, 
some great thinker, like Socrates or Plato, would arise, who, 
longing for more life than the brief years allotted him 
here, urged on by what he wished, would frame reasons why 
the tenet of immortality might be true. Consider particu- 
larly that it would thus not reach the dignity of a logical 
creed until man was in a state of high intellectual develop- 
ment and had learned the art of writing, — necessary aid to 
subtile thought. Through his writings and records the 
development of such a creed — offspring of human reason- 
ing — could be easily traced and its origin detected. The 
history of the growth of Platons theories on immortality — 
(a doctrine illustrative of the fallacy of cultured human 


470 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


ideas as compared with God’s revelation to ignorant bar- 
barians) — is just what we might expect all over the world if 
there had been no revelation anywhere. But history 
assures us that just the reverse is the fact, that the most 
illiterate savage has had an instinctive something in him 
which, without reasoning, deliberation, instruction, or 
experience, promised to the virtuous a happy hunting- 
ground, that in all ages men have believed in future exist- 
ence after physical death, before they knew enough to 
reason, and that the nation whose earliest tradition was of 
the Tree of Life maintained the resurrection of the body. 

It is no more pertinent for us to inquire why the 
Divinity gave revelation to the despised Jews and not to 
the learned Greeks, than to inquire why He gave the bless- 
ings of civilization to the English and not to the Hottentots. 
Perhaps if we were God’s advisers and were asked how to 
develop Ilis religion by prophecies and prove it by super- 
natural events, we would counsel Him to show its inherent 
power by planting it originally in the most obscure and 
pettiest tribe of slaves on the globe, that its miraculous 
force might not be ascribed to the effect of the military con- 
quests of the Caesars or of an Alexander, nor confounded 
with Mohammed’s maxims of conversion by the sword, that 
its spiritual strength might be shown by coming from the 
weakest physical sources. 

On the other hand, let the hypothesis be that there is 
a Heaven and a Father who careth for His creatures here. 
He has made ns to love father, mother and friends, while 
the lower animals possess affection only to an extent which 


SHALL W£ MELT AGAIN? 


471 


will enable them to rear their young. Planting that 
love ill us, and loving us Himself enough to surround uz 
with the beauty of sunset and music and flowers and our 
dear ones, — would He knowingly make this affection a 
source of pain by having us look forward to an everlasting 
parting? Or would this good Father cause this affection 
to be — not tormenting pain in us whom He has brought 
into the world — but rather an incentive to try to meet them 
again in some hereafter? 

^^If so, would He not give His Truth to man, while the 
latter was still most primitive and barbarous, in some way 
suited to crude minds, long before the race attained the 
Athenian learning of such as Socrates? This is just 
what we And to be the case. Long before the Jews had 
met a physician like Aristotle, long before they had a 
sculptor like Phidias or a poet like Homer, they had 
received information from some source as to God and 
Heaven. Dim it was, at first. The Old Testament con- 
cerned itself more about how God rewards and punishes 
man in this life; its human, benighted writers knew death 
mainly as a great black cloud into which all men must 
enter and see and be seen no more. Only twice or thrice, 
perhaps, a gleam of light from beyond breaks throngli the 
dark. David, the wise and royal Jew, can say once that 
God will not leave his soul in hell, neither suffer His holy 
one to see corruption; Job says that, though worms destroy 
his body, yet in his flesh he shall see God; and Isaiah 
igain, when he sees his countrymen slaughtered and his 
:ation all but destroyed, can say, "Thy dead men shall 
together with my body sliall they arise.^ 


472 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


The Pharisees believed in the resurrection of the 
dead. Martha speaks of it, and St. Paul tells the Phari- 
sees that, having been brought up a Pharisee, he was on 
their side against the Sadduces. The ancients, having no 
science to instruct them, regarded the body as always the 
same and imperishable. Hence the Egyptians embalmed 
their dead and hid them within mountains of stone; hence 
the Jews buried their patriarchs within caves and rock- 
hewn sepulchres, sealing the entrance with stones, looking 
for a physical resurrection. But our material frames do 
not, even when animated by the soul, remain the same for 
one minute. The warmth within us signifies that the 
flesh is burning and therefore changing; the bodies which 
we had ten years ago are now all ashes. Do we mourn for 
them? Stop the burning, withdraw the heat, and the 
body changes no longer, — becoming dust;vbut the soul 
vanishes from its cold tenement. We say a ^ river is the 
same,^ but it is the sameness of appearance only; it changes 
every moment. Ten years from now, if we live, our 
identity will be only the identity of appearance — our flesh 
and bones being wholly of different material, although the 
same in kind; and when we rise from dead corruption, we 
shall put on an incorruptible body, yet we shall know each 
other. The poor dying thief on the cross was to be con- 
scious that day, that he, risen from the dead, was in Para- 
dise and with his risen Saviour. Martha had a cheerless 
belief that her brother would lie in his grave thousands of 
years until the world should be no more; this Jesus set 
aside, and when He bowed His head, and ceased to breathe, 


SHALL WE MEET AGAIN? 


473 


when His torn and wounded human body expired. He 
entered the gates not alone, but leading a repentant thief 
by the hand. And in order that we might know that He 
had risen indeed. He showed Himself alive; for He was in 
mortal mould not only to speak the truth to other mortals, 
but to give illustrations. And still further, to show us 
how phantasmal death is. He finally departed, still wear- 
ing the same image, by which He was recognized, and dis- 
appearing into the clouds into some region beyond the sky. 
And when we come to close our eyes in death, let us trust 
in Him who tells us, ‘ To-day thou shalt be with me.’ ” 
Lifting her tearful eyes from the letter and the light, 
Greta looked into the darkness towards the surge 
where the Wanderer rolled and beat, as restless as a 
patient in the last violent delirium of fever. She stood in 
mute grief, like the watcher over some dear one’s death- 
bed, expecting every moment to see the sufferer painfully 
drav/ his last breath. Then she thought, but perhaps the 
storm-tossed mariner was already safe in the happy harbor 
of God’s saints, far beyond the gloom and darksome night 
and dimning cloud which o’ershadowed her. And she 
wondered if his spirit could be with her to-day, although 
from Paradise. Perhaps this sudden strange light was a 
celestial image beaming upon her even now? .... Ho;— 
only the snowy moonlight fieeting through the dark 
branches of the trees. . . . . Was he now in some happy, 
beautiful gardens walking with a shining one whom men 
call Lord Jesus, King of Paradise? 


CHAPTER XXXVL 


AUF WIEDERSEHN. 

*‘0n a mouth all unresponsive, 

On the close-locked lips of death, 

Fell the sweetness and the flutter, 

And the warmth of her dear breath.” 

The break of day was pale and dim. With its first 
wan glimmer, Greta, who had fallen into a broken and 
troubled sleep, rose up and went to her window and 
strained her eyes toward the gulf. The wind was howl- 
ing and roaring, but the rain had stopped. Along the 
coast tawny bluffs, like crouching lions, defiantly loomed 
above the ocean, and a long procession of scudding vapor 
images, like a ceremonious train of weird hags, rode wildly 
through the murky air. The rattling doors and windows, 
the rumbling over the house tops, the screeching of the 
desperate trees, and the rocking and throbbing of the 
Mexican Gulf was perhaps greater than the night before. 
But the dread of* dark ness was gone. 

By the dawnlight she saw also the Wanderer. It 
was a ruin of rigging and broken spars. Two masts had 
been carried away overboard, but portions of them stilj 
hung by shrouds and stays, and were dashed up against 
the bulwarks of the ship. Once its trusty servants, they had 

474 


AUF AVIEDERSEHN. 


475 


now become engines of destruction and were the most dan- 
gerous of all its enemies. The heavy main-mast could be 
seen, tangled in a net-work of rope and surrounded by 
livid waves that converted it into a battering-ram, — a 
thing of terror that crashed blow after blow against the 
faithful timbers which yet adhered. How the stout sides 
of the good ship had endured such ferocious assaults until 
daylight was a mystery — not to be solved until we no 
longer see as through a glass darkly. 

Had any been saved ? 

So far, not one. But life still existed on the wreck, 
and Greta through a powerful field-glass distinguished 
amidst the white sea of foam a dark speck. It might be a 
cask fioating in shore. A later inspection discovered it to 
be a bolsa, or life buoy of some kind, carrying two men 
who had evidently waited for the help of daylight before 
trying to reach the shore. Was Warren one of them? 
Greta knew that his athletic arms could weather the storm 
if any human strength could, and full of hope she hastened 
from her room to the shore, where a crowd was collecting, 
with lines already to help them when they came within 
reach. The gale blew straight in shore, so that the valiant 
swimmers on the raft came plunging on rapidl}/, over the 
watery hills, down into the liquid hollows, now lost out of 
sight beneath some greater billow, but bravely up again with 
the foam — battling so sturdily for life. How the helpless 
crowd cheered them! Finally a great friendly wave, 
advancing, dashed them in, — and they were saved! 

They were the first mate and a sailor. Were any yet 


476 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


alive on the wreck? One — Mr. Warren/^ they said; the 
raft would hold only two persons, and he had refused 
to go, on the ground that wives and children were depend- 
ent on the two who went. Where was he now? Up in 
the fore-top, waiting for the end. 

Colorless as the surrounding dawn, but scarcely dis- 
concerted, G-reta walked quickly back to her room and 
took her old station by the lookout window. The ship, 
she saw, had run upon the reef bow foremost. The tim- 
bers around the forecastle, with the foremast, clung to the 
ledge and lifted out of water, while the stern was sub- 
merged; the whole vessel was sliding and settling little by 
little. With her glass she could see, high up on that 
remaining mast, a dark, motionless figure, which she knew 
must be him who had saved her from death twice over and 
who loved her. He was thinking of her now, perhaps, and 
wondering how she would receive him when he came in — 
floated by the waves, white and cold. 

How Greta wished that on stretching forth her arms 
she might reach him, and lift him up and’take him into 
warmth and love! But all that she could clasp of his was 
the letter which she had dropped the night before, when 
she had lain down to rest. And again she raised it, and, 
as she read, Warren seemed to speak to her once more: 

^Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit,' was 
not mere dying breath wasted into empty space, and He 
who said that did not live and die in jangling inconsist- 
ency. If one tells us ninety-nine truths we may believe 
his hundredth, — surely, when that is involved in the 


AUP WIEbfiRSfeHK. 


47 ^ 

ninety-nine. When the finest wisdom, the truest judg- 
ment, the most profound knowledge of human nature that 
we have ever witnessed, is true in all else, it could not be 
false in telling what we know too little to deny. He could 
not build a faultless structure on a lie. When the clearest 
eyes that ever opened on this world, and the keenest judg- 
ment that ever weighed human life, and the purest heart 
that ever throbbed with human sympathy tells us that we 
are imperishable, let us trust Him in perfect peace. When 
we pass away it will not be as a leap in the dark, nor a 
ferry into a Stygian land of twilight;— death is only the 
pale gates of pearl into the New Jerusalem. 

Death seemed terrible to Paul when he believed as the 
Pharisees; but afterwards he desired to depart and be wiili 
Christ, as far better. In his new faith was no long wait- 
ing for a final general resurrection; only the shutting of 
an eye would come between laying off his worn-out body 
and his presence with the Lord. Death once had a sting, 
and the grave a victory; but now, where are they? Con- 
quered by Him who, in a twinkling, changes our " image 
from the earth" and bestows upon us an "image of the 
heavenly."" Our likeness will be the same — we shall know 
each other; but the material of that semblance will be no 
longer divisible clay, — for fiesh and blood, carbon and 
hydrogen, can not inherit the kingdom of God; drowned, 
mangled and diseased bodies are not wanted there. 0 
grave, where is thy victory! We wait not before joining 
hands again until the end of the world; we do not,* per- 
haps, pine ages and ages in the cellar-like darkness of the 


478 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


Greek Hades. Fear nothing when your heloved fall into 
the sleep called death; believe in the resurrection and 
the life, and, even through Him who giveth the victory, 
you shall never die, but, even as you close your weary eyes, 
you shall pass away from sorrow, pain, crying and former 
things, and shall be all changed/^ 

The wreck quivered and convulsively shook. Greta 
sav/ appalling heights of water plunge over the steadily- 
sinking bow. Swelling under the accumulated commotion 
of the long and awful night, the agitated sea was now a 
terrific sight; its color was as green as those eyes which 
once glared at her from the haunted oak, and its spasms 
were as frightful as those of any other homicidal maniac. 
It raged and rioted in a manner unlike anything on that 
coast before, and the mere sight of it was sickening. 
Furious, obstinate, unsatisfied, its brutal forces persistently 
charged again and again overwhelmingly upon the bravely 
resisting hulk. Lower and lower the stranded ruin settled, 
until nothing was visible but a narrow line of deck and 
rail, that was hardly distinguishable from the ridge on 
which it had been driven. But above the dashing foam 
rose the solitary remaining mast and a single traversing 
yard, which, broken, formed with the upright spar the 
semblance of a Latin cross. Cool, quiet and unflinching 
as the Roman sentinel at the gate of Pompeii in the old 
Vesuvian storm, was the still figure, above the flying mist and 
spray, upon that uplifted cross. Greta watched him long 
through her glass. Finally the sea appeared to recede, as if 
gathering and massing all its strength, leaving the crucifix 


AUF WIEDERSEHN. 


479 


rising high in the air, calm and clear; then, frothing, 
raging, and rushing, a great, glaring monster of green 
sprang with all its crashing, transcendent power upon the 
upraised figure and upon the ensign of the Christian 
religion to which it clung, and engulfed it all. 

Greta covered her face with her hands, for the cross, to 
which she looked, had fallen . 

When, in the early morning, the wreck finally broke 
and disappeared, the gale was from the hot South and the 
air was full of evaporated water. After the final disaster 
the cyclone which had caused it passed on, and a cold 
current of wind from the North rushed in to fill the 
vacuum. It condensed the moisture and in another hour 
a low, chill, white fog hung heavily over the vicinity of the 
vanished wreck. A ghostly shroud enfolded the treacher- 
ous coast, and its dim headlands pointed like the spectral 
fingers of mourning shades to where the Wanderer went 
down. Pallid sunbeams then struggled through the con- 
fused clouds, beautifying their ragged edges into golden 
fringes. In quiet sorrow Greta had ascended the cupola 
of the hotel. It commanded the best view of the sea to 
be had in that region. Everywhere lay the thick fog, and 
— it might have been due to the strained condition of her 
nerves — but Greta fancied that she heard, far out to sea, 
the distant, barely perceptible, tolling of the fog-bell of 
some passing vessel. But the notion died away, and surely 
the only peals which she heard thenceforth were those of 


480 tHE MADOKKA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

iinseeu angels faintly calling, ringing a mystical caution 
in her thick and troubled weather for that sailor on the 
sea of life. 

Drift-wood from the wreck soon began to strew the 
beach, but the more ghastly flotsam did not appear until 
some days later. Owing to the change in the wind, many 
of the bodies of the drowned crew did not come ashore 
until advanced in decomposition. Swollen and mangled, 
their livid matted heads were gashed by rocks and Ashes 
so that bone and muscle were exposed; their eyes were 
wide-open and staring, like lustreless dead-lights, or like 
the cabin windows of a stranded schooner filled with sand. 
The mate and sailor who had been saved could hardly 
identify any; even the clothing was torn away to rags. 
One corpse which wandered in and rested quietly in some 
reeds by the Loreley wharf was doubtfully pointed out by 
them as Warren^s. But it was determined to be such only 
by the color of the hair and one of the garments. Tiie 
face was disfigured by the nibs of sea-birds beyond all 
recognition. Greta would not look on the mass of putre- 
faction that might have once been inhabited by her 
lover’s soul. Not one half the dead seamen were ever 
recovered, and the authentication of Warren’s rotting 
flesh by the two survivors was uncertain. Tumefied and 
discolored as it was by corruption and exposure, it had 
been defaced, marred, deformed and utterly changed by 
reptiles, and gnawed by fishes, and mangled by birds. 

The dead were entombed in the Trinity churchyard. 
Mrs. Lind and her daughter attended the burial service 


At’F WIEDERSEHK. 


481 


which was held over the graves. After that they walked 
slowly home. 

Mamma/^ said Greta, do you remember the old 
sailor song: 

‘ And the moon will shine so bright 
And the stars will twinkle light 

While my sweetheart will be watching for me ; 

• She must watch, she must wait, s)ie must look to the deep. 
She must look to the bottom of the sea.’ 

Just think how the mothers of these poor drowned men 
are waiting and watching for them now, and the poor sis- 
ters thinking of their dear brothers with bright eyes and 
pleasant smiles ! ” 

Think rather of the souls like birds released from 
their cages into the free sky;^^ answered the mother; 
^^they doubt no more whether their wings were made 
for flying; their unavailing strokes beat their prison bars 
no longer. Look beyond this sea, Greta, towards Ocecoi 
Springs and East Pascagoula.” 

These little villages, far away on the coast to the East, 
were covered by a thin blue haze. It veiled the prospect 
with a gauze of vapor which deepened to purple fog in 
the hollows, and obscured all traces of dwellings. Only 
vast clouds of green and blue, foliage and haze, were visi- 
ble, motionless, still, soundless and lifeless. 

'^The only world which we see there is dead,” said 
Mrs. Lind, ^^but under its azure shroud is the far more 
animated though unseen human world ; striving ambi- 
tion, aching sorrow, joyous hope, fitful passion are all 
there, and so intensely actual that the other is as nothing. 


483 THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

So now we see only as through a glass darkly, whenever 
we look towards that dear country where they that loved 
are blest; for Paradise is hidden from our sight until we 
come to penetrate the haze of death.” 

Ah ! ” said Greta, it is weary waiting here.” 

^‘Well, we will go faraway from Pass Christian, to-mor- 
row,” replied Mrs. Lind, kindly deaf to her daughter's 
meaning, and we will never return. In the meanwhile, 
summon your philosophy to your aid, and banish illogical 
sadness. ^What is the use of repining?^ One day this 
evil sea, with the other elements and the heavens, shall be 
dissolved and melt with fervent heat.” 

‘^So teaches science,” added Greta, diverted; ‘^non- 
existence or embers, or an endless clashing and breaking up 
of fluid worlds with moments of possible life amid appall- 
ing cycles of dead ages — is the end of the speculative road 
which mere materialists travel.” 

“And of what use is it all?” said the mother. “ What 
does it mean? No purpose appears in that which is seen; 
therefore, we must look for the end of this immense man- 
ufactory of God^s servants in the unseen. How absurd 
would it be to assert that all this had no design ! ” 

“ Love seems the music of the universe,” said Greta. 
“With the keynote of divine love all speculation as to 
destiny should harmonize. Otherwise Darwin’s song, — 
like other melodies very pretty when listened to alone, but 
which become discordant when introduced into one of 
Beethoven’s divine symphonies ; and Comte’s and Inger- 
soll’s and Spencer’s ballads all jar harshly when they 


AUF WIEDERSEHK. 


483 


approach within hearing of God^s own symphony that shall 
roll on — invisible music — when all things visible have 
passed away.” 

Thus, together, the two went home by the blue ocean, 
so charming and bright, chatting of the state which shall 
be when former things are passed away. They believed, 
these two, that their love of the Creator's beauty was not 
created eventually to become more and more a pain as 
the hour approached when their human eyes, tired out 
with toil, for the last time must fall asleep. They 
hoped that when death closed their eyelids not even 
the earth^s grace and comeliness was shut out forever. 
And then the elder lady thought of certain beautiful faces 
which she used to see long ago, in her girlhood, faded now 
and gone, and pictured only in her heart; they would be 
fairer still, but with the same dear smiles and lovelight in 
their eyes, which God had made her remember, when they 
looked upon her again, on her resurrection morning. 
Greta glanced about her at the fresh, lovely Southern 
landscape, as unimpaired by time as two years ago, when 
Warren walked with her through them. How still were 
the green meadows, she mused; how gracefully the red- 
birds flitted in and out of those orange groves; how rich 
with joy were the gay butterflies flying aloft from the ugly 
caterpillars and the corpse-like cocoons, up towards the 
free blue dome of sky where sore distressed hearts also 
fain would rise. 0, for wings, mightier than a dove’s! 
thought Greta, that she could search among the happier 
green pastures, under the never-frowning skies, to meet 


484 THE MADOHHA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 

a transfiguration even more glorious than that of the but- 
terfly. somewhere among the mansions prepared in the 
new heavens and the new earth, for those who should 
receive the crown of everlasting life! 

As on the morrow they were going away from Pass 
Christian, late in the afternoon of the funeral, when she 
knew that the cemetery would be deserted, Greta set out 
for a farewell walk down the road which had been hereto- 
fore so full of blithesome memories, — ^to where the men of 
the Wanderer were laid away to rest in that sleep called 
death. 

Everything was as merry and as frolicsome as though 
Mother Earth was in her girlhood and, just eighteen, was 
now giving her coming-out party. The weather was as 
warm and genial as a bud;” the leafy trees had on their 
newest dresses and blossoms were worn by the orchards; the 
Cherokee hedges were scented with roses set in green, and 
an orchestra of birds quivered in the air. Gleaming 
snowy clouds hung in expectation in the pure blue above, 
and their shapes at first resembled colossal marble gods; 
when they saw Greta they moved and fluttered as if their 
feathery white had become the down of angels^ wings. 
The setting red sun grew up from the horizon like a pyro- 
mantic red rose, blossoming in celestial fire. The ethereal 
gods or angels who clustered around it were tinted with 
scarlet and wreathed with vermilion flames; through their 
blushes they smiled and beamed on Greta, and then looked 
down at their purple reflections, in the mirror of the sea. 
There were boats, safely riding now, on that cruel sea, and 


AUF VVIEDERSEHN. 


485 


the girl whom it had bereaved of her lover, saw shining 
white sails gliding by like flocks of swans; but she turned 
away her head — towards gardens where lilies grew. As 
she advanced through the pines which whispered to one 
another near the church, she saw, hiding in the darker 
shadows, and glittering coldly on her, drops of the merci- 
less rain that helped to wreck the Wanderer, They lin- 
gered and glistened in the rosy atmosphere as if reluctant 
to be expelled from the breast of so fair a young world of 
eighteen. The mild wind from around the pines was 
soothing to Greta, and tried to assuage her speechless grief 
with sympathizing sighs, that almost seemed to breathe the 
words, Blessed are those who mourn.” As it rustled by, 
it left its fragrance floating around her still. 

The solitary girl went swerving on obliquely among 
the trees, from sunlight into shade, darting by the little 
church so like a vestibule leading into the larger sanctu- 
ary of those who had passed away. Into this greater tem- 
ple she came, among its quiet, waiting and ever-growing 
congregation. In the reddening evening, the gray and 
weather-beaten monuments cast long, black shadows 
across the green mounds. Her quick steps lightly swept 
aside the meek violets which raised their lowly stems among 
the grass — dotting its emerald expanse with little pearls 
and sapphires. She walked swiftly on among the branch- 
ing oaks and the tall fern, treading silent paths of mys- 
tery, through underbrush gaunt with pallid, lurking mon- 
uments, until she came to a little open place where, through 
the parted tops of the trees, a heaven looked down upon 


486 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHKISTIAN. 


her with a dark blue gaze — so grand and solemn. Here 
were the fresh clods above the grave of Warren. For a 
moment she stood, restrained but slightly shivering, and 
regarding it with eyes that were full of sweet distress; 
then she knelt, in her black gown, on the clover among 
the flowers, with her small white hands clasped together, 
and with tremulous lips and a far-off, absent look . 

It was a luminous and almost windless day. The heart- 
less sea behind her was disturbed only by a sleepy swell, 
like the fluctuation after a storm; careless and almost 
unruffled, its polished surface lazily and playfully flung 
brilliant reflections upon the pleasant shell-road and cot- 
tages along the coast; but its hateful smiles and dazzling 
glances came not near her in this still grove — the parlor 
where death welcomed its guests. , 

Thick, tangled foliage grew all around Greta in that 
far corner of the cemetery, forming a green wall impene- 
trable to lookers-on from outside — were there any such in 
this quiet country spot. There was an entire absence of 
sound or noise at flrst, which made the peculiar seclusion 
of the place unusually impressive. 

Then, in its leafy depths, somewhere in the perfect 
stillness, there commenced an inexpressibly delicate and 
melodious warble, as though the kind heart of some little 
bird were moved to console her that mourned. The song 
at times was astonishingly protracted and again beauti- 
fully varied by softly rising and falling cadences and by 
the most compassionate whistling calls. The mighty trees 
which grew densely in the churchyard on every hand 


AUF WIEDERSEHN. 


487 


caused a shade and obscurity that would have been sug- 
gestive of gloominess without these seductive carols. For 
a few moments the invisible comforter ceased. Then 
again she heard the mysterious song, and, whether it had 
some occult power, or whether her physical frame, 
exhausted by watching, were fainting, — Greta felt as if 
she were listening to a spell, and a strange incantation 
seemed creeping over her, and her identity seemed with- 
drawing from the body into the sphere of the spirit, with 
the capacity of soaring quick as thought into places and 
times far distant. The bright golden trill was now behind 
her, now before, and now exquisitely elsewhere, — as if it 
were the magic voice of some capricious fairy of the 
grove, or, perhaps, of some diviner messenger. And 
Greta^s hands and face grew chill and stiff and as motionless 
as those which lay decaying about her, while her soul went 
away in glamour to sea. It hovered over a man lashed to 
the fragment of a mast that drifted in a mist-covered 
ocean. Breakers dashed over him and he was all but 
dead; but either his cold lips or the song-bird sighed, 
Margareta.” And then she heard the creaking of the 
yards and rigging of an approaching vessel and the faint 
tinkle of a spectral fog-bell— but no, the dream was past, 
the crackling was the brushing of the oak boughs about 
her, the bell of the Episcopal church was calmly ringing, 
and the auspicious trill, with the unseen warbler, was 
gone. 

""I am sitting in the gloaming, my dear,” she mur- 
mured; wonder if you see me now? The gloom is 


488 


THE MADONNA OF PASS CHRISTIAN. 


gathering around me, the encircling dusk will brood over 
my onward course at best, and the approaching night is 
dark. But the morning is coming too — perhaps. My 
loved one, will you greet me there? Is death only tran- 
sition — only the balmy narcotic which quiets the fever of 
terrestial life, which dissolves this earthly frame into 
graveyard clay and releases its vital essence to clothe 
itself in a more glorious and incorruptible garment? Is 
there truly a happy land above, of rest, where love is 
never cold? If that is really so, please meet me soon; for 
I also have a desire to depart, as far better. Auf wieder- 
seli7if dearest.” 

She plucked some of the violets which grew near the 
grave, and, as she retraced her way, she touched her lips to 
their drooping heads. When she reached the threshold of 
the enclosure, she raised her pale, loving face, sad and 
faint, to the arch of the kind pure sky that bent over the 
mounds and her with its holy compassion, answering her 
mutely, with its calm and loving smile, as though in its 
tranquil depths of peace there was rest from earth’s 
turbulence and pain. And as she faded from its view, her 
last wistful glance of affection and yearning was cast on 
grave and Heaven: so she who was dear to Orpheus might 
have gazed and longed, when at the summons of the king of 
Hades she stopped from following her wooer, turning and 
fixing upon him one fond, sweet, parting look and then 
disappearing into the shades . 

But, a sudden apparition followed after Greta as she 
passed away into the shades of the pines that grew 




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AUF WIEDERSEHN. 


489 


between the cemetery and the road, — an athletic figure, 
swarthy as though from Italian skies, with a sun-burned 
face on which ocean spray seemed yet to linger. It had 
entered the churchyard by some unknown side gate while 
she went out by the main entrance, and it tracked her 
through the violets quickly. Then from the sepulchres 
where the dead had been sleeping, a voice clear as the last 
trump called: 

Greta?” 

The retreating girl listened. Was it the golden bird 
song again? She turned herself back and saw — one 
walking from among the tombs, coming to meet her with 
a bright smile. 

‘‘At last!” she said; ''or, rather, so soon?” 

And the darkness which crept up from the sea and 
pressed upon the footsteps of the fleeing day flung no 
dreary shadow, as of old, over Greta; for with her there 
was no more night; nor was there any more sea, and God 
had removed from her eyes all tears. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


NINE YEARS AFTER. 

** Mamma,” said little eight-year-old Greta, one evening 
at supper, as her father’s hand lightly rested on her 
flowing golden hair, what did you tell papa when you 
saw him coming out of the graveyard after you thought he 
was drowned in that hateful, naughty sea.” 

I told him that I believed in the resurrection of the 
dead, my darling.” 

And then Mrs. Warren, of Commonwealth Avenue, 
Boston, poured out the tea. 


THE END. 








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